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Where the partridge pipes through stubble and dell, 
Where the honey-bee roves o’er purple clover, 

Where chivalry reigns, where brave men dwell, 

And the fairest lassies the wide world over. 


'MONGST THE HILLS 
OF KENTUCKY 


BY 

LIZZIE ARNETT 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY 

TIP SAUNDERS 



TRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY 
R. H. CAROTHERS ft SON 
LOUISVILLE, KY. 

1909 



UGHAHY of CONGRESS 
T wo OoDies Received 

FEB 20 1809 

Copyrignt Entry 
«LASS c>- XXC. No. 

-2--L s 0 2.0 

COPY a. 


COPYRIGHTED 1909 
BY 

LIZZIE ARNETT 

All Rights Reserved 


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C U i 
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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Margit Ellen’s Tooth Convention 1 

II A Struggle with Fate 11 

III Jack as a Happy Lover 19 

IV Petb 26 

V A Country Wedding 40 

VI A PouTicAL Spat 52 

VII Jack’s Grapple with the Green-Eyed Monster 58 

VIII A Round Up and a Quarrel 66 

IX America and Ireland in Combat 76 

X Tiny Miggles 88 

XI Nan Hollis 99 

XII Aunt Cronie’s Encounter with the Honey Bee 123 

XHI Miss Jean Carvil 131 

XIV Miss Jean’s Story interspersed with a few items 

FROM Inda’s Experience 152 

XV The Parting 168 

XVI Miss Jean’s Story Concluded 188 

XVH A Picnic and its Results 197 

XVIII The Trail of the Serpent 210 

XEX Old Man’s Experience in Bee Keeping 221 

XX A Catastrophe 235 

XXI The Broken Bond ... 250 



^MONGST THE HILLS OF KENTUCKY. 

CHAPTEE I. 

M.iKGiT Ellen Tooth Convention. 

Oh no, she was not the strikingly handsome 
lass her cousin Lute Kenner was; neither did I 
find, on our first brief encounter, evidence indic- 
ative of superiority in any respect. Take it all 
in all, to me, then, she seemed a commonplace 
young girl, this Laura Dane. 

It was a peculiar and startling event that 
threw us together the second time, when my 
mind underwent a decided change. She was 
visiting her uncle Bob Kenner’s family, and it 
was her aunt Margaret Ellen, abbreviated into 
Margit Ellen, for the sake of economizing time, 
I suppose; and Margit Ellen had one of the 
‘^spells” she frequently indulged in, being a 
nervous, chimerical character with a fixed and 
steadfast belief that each ‘‘spell” would end 
her mortal career. 

I have known her from girlhood to present 
time of speech — known her as one to 
whom, when an idea catches her, it clings 


2 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


with unrelenting tenacity. If she decides 
in her mind that white is black, and 
desires to convert you to her belief, you 
might as well give up your idea first as last; 
you have that to do, or knock her entirely out 
of the ring, which event would bring about an 
eternal 'abrasion in the good, kindly feeling 
she’d always entertained for you. At every 
chance encounter she will fling up her pretty 
head, dilate her nostrils, snort like a war-horse 
and return to the fight. Complaining ever, hon- 
estly believing she has some serious ailment, 
taking every malady she hears of, whether epi- 
demic or otherwise, yet possessing the happy 
faculty of exchanging one disorder for another, 
hence no serious harm resulting from any. There 
are times when she is violently assaulted by one 
of these accommodating troubles and assembles 
the doctor and neighbors to witness her last 
struggle, yet she so far has floundered through 
and pulled up on the safe side. Bob married 
her for her pretty face and clinging disposition, 
such a loving, twining little mortal as she was. 
He was sorely cheated, but, brave, kind man that 
he is, he makes the best he can of a bad bargain 
and utters no complaint. There are many men 
and women who, in the matrimonial game, make 
selection of a sorry chance, though others more 
wise, secure a good chance; others still who 


OF KENTUCKY 


3 


marry before they get a chance ; to this last class 
belonged Bob Kenner; bnt, being a good, kind, 
indulgent husband, and possessing a consider- 
able share of this world’s goods, Margit Ellen 
has ample time to invest in and enjoy whatever 
malady she prefers. 

At one period of his life Bob indulged 
freely in the practice of conveying home by the 
pocketful the almanacs so lavishly distributed 
by store-keepers, etc. Margaret Ellen devoured 
greedily each ; and they being crammed full and 
running over with every known disease that hu- 
manity is heir to, with an unfailing remedy for 
each ailment, she, coming in such close contact 
with these troubles, was invariably attacked by 
the most virulent complaint the almanac had, 
and forthwith Bob would be called on to hasten 
and get the remedy recommended. Consequent- 
ly she had always a store of diseases and a rem- 
edy for each, to draw from when needed. And 
bottle after bottle of these patents would she 
swallow and yet live on. Bob found he was sink- 
ing money on almanacs, so at last refused with 
thanks whenever a cargo was offered him, and 
now you can’t find one on the plantation, blue, 
green or yellow — not a thing to set the clock by, 
only the coming and going of the trains. 

But to proceed with my second encounter with 
Laura Dane. One day I was visiting Margaret 


4 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Ellen, and she was exhibiting a beantifnl, bright 
qnilt she’d had made — ‘'The Morning Star,”" 
I think she called it, though it might have been 
the “Evening Star.” Anyway, she was folding 
this quilt, preparatory to putting it away. Hav^ 
ing a serious case of rheumatism in her right 
hand, and not being able to use that member,, 
she caught one corner in her teeth, not a corner 
of the rheumatism, mind you, but a corner of 
“The Evening Star” — no, “The Morning 
Star,” — ^and just as she clamped severely down 
on it. Lute, who was assisting, gave her corners, 
a quick, smart jerk, when out popped two of her 
mother’s front teeth. 

It may be, if your imagination is lively and 
equal to the task, you can fancy what character 
of a tempest they two involved me in. That pro- 
verbial tempest in the tea-pot was only a glim- 
mer beside it. Margit Ellen screamed, howled^ 
moaned and groaned, as best she could, with her 
hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Lute 
skipped here and there, performing a war dance, 
with accompanying music: “I didn’t go to do 
it! Oh, I didn’t go to do it!” Sometimes she 
was clinging to her mother’s skirts, then with 
arms embracing her would pull her this way and 
haul her that way over the floor, for she was a 
stout, sturdy girl, and her mother frail and 
easily handled. 


OF KENTUCKY 


5 


Oh! I thoii^t, what can I do? What shall 
I do? I honestly believe I could have surren- 
dered every tooth in my head with less clamor. 

The tempest prevailed till Bob came on the 
scene, bringing relief in a promise of carrying 
his wife right away to the tooth dentist (as my 
old man calls that class of people), and get two 
more pretty new teeth; which he did with con- 
siderable tax on his pocket-book, for she was un- 
relenting in her determinaton to have a gold 
plate, and it called for no small sized nugget, as 
her month on the interior was of good dimen- 
sion, of which the exterior was very misleading, 
being rather a puckered affair, made expressly, 
it seemed, for kissing. She got her teeth and they 
were beautiful and white and natural looking, 
but she declared they felt uncomfortable, and 
over half the time she wore them in her apron 
pocket, on the mantle board, or in some drawer 
— ^^at night, under her pillow, for fear while in 
an unconscious state she might swallow them, 
having a good available throat — rendered thus, 
I suppose, by swallowing so many patents — I 
mean medicines. The old man declared to me 
often he’d ^‘rather die of a disease than to be 
killed by the cure.” But I am honestly im- 
pressed that patent medicines are ineffective, 
either in harming or helping you. 


6 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Would you credit my word were I to tell yon 
that she lost those teeth one day and got it into 
her head she^d swallowed ’em? She did, for 
a fact. 

At that particular time Laura Dane was mak- 
ing them another visit, and Margit Ellen 
thought proper to hang some white muslin cur- 
tains over the windows in Lute’s room. For 
that purpose, not being sufficiently tall, she 
climbed onto a chair to facilitate the work, 
reaching the remainder of the way as best sho 
could with her head thrown back. The mouth 
naturally falls open with the head in that posi- 
tion. When she climbed on the chair the teeth 
were in her mouth; when she descended they 
were missing. Into her pockets she went ; down 
under tables, dresser, bed, on the bed, mantle, 
etc., into her pockets again — no teeth. Then a 
peculiar sensation of the throat took possession 
of her, and she knew on the instant where they 
were — she’d swallowed ’em! She made a 
stampede for the lower room, with hands clasp- 
ing her throat, she fell on the bed, explaining, 
with great effort to Laura and Lute what had 
occurred. Bob cut out for the doctor and neigh- 
bors hurriedly. When I reached her bedside a 
few friends had assembled. Granny Grimes was 
making a kettle of sage tea to dislodge the teeth 
by flooding, I inferred. Sage tea was Granny’s 


OF KENTUCKY 


7 


panacea for all tronWes and ailments, from gal- 
loping consumption down to the toe-itch. 

Lnte was weeping and wringing her hands in 
an agony of distress, while Laura Dane went 
composedly about, searching for the missing ar- 
ticles. I thought she should show more interest 
under such peculiar and trying circumstances, 
but she said to me, in an undisturbed tone, that 
she’d looked down her Aunt Ellen’s throat and 
found no foreign goods there. She was now 
pulling out drawers, peeping into boxes and 
turning things up-side down generally; and 
there was poor Margaret Ellen reclining in a 
propped-up position, breathing hard and labor- 
iously, groaning, with her mouth spread to its 
utmost capacity, struggling and trying to tell 
us what pain the teeth were causing her, wedged 
down there in the larynx of her throat. She 
could speak only in vowels — ^^ aw, aw, eh, eh, aw, 
aw, 00, 00,” etcetera. I regretted there were 
not more vowels, so as to afford her greater op- 
portunities a.t making her sutferings known, 
seemingly they were very acute. 

I walked round to w'here Laura was investi- 
gating and asked in a subdued tone : You don’t 
believe she swallowed her teeth?” 

^^No,” she replied, ^Lt’s an impossibility.” 
read of a man who did,” said L 


8 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘‘So did I/’ sLe replied, “but I didn’t credit 
any such absurd story.” She went calmly on 
with her searcbing. 

“Suppose we go up to Lute’s room and look 
about the windows, ’ ’ I remarked. 

“I have been there, but will go again,” she 
acquiesced. 

Eeaching the room, we went down on the floor, 
searching every nook and corner, under chairs, 
tables, across to the windows, drawing aside cur- 
tains and blinds, but all to no avail. While en- 
gaged in our search, Laura went on to say : 

“I don’t know what extravagant feat Aunt 
Ellen will execute next. She imagined she’d 
swallowed a pin once, and declares she can feel 
it wending its way outward through her ribs. 
Now it’s her teeth. Next week it will be some- 
thing else equally as absurd. She is no dissem- 
bler, either ; she is fully convinced she swallowed 
these teeth, and is too sincere about it for the 
comfort of lookers-on. She is a strange combina- 
tion of kind-heartedness, hysterics and patent 
medicines, and is so thoroughly devoted to 
Uncle Bob and Lute.” 

“Yes,” I returned, “Bob and Lute are the 
sunshine of her existence. ’ ’ 

By this time we had concluded our fruitless 
search and had reached the door on our return. 


OF KENTUCKY 


9 


Now there was a long, large mirror, swung 
between the two windows she been draping — 
it reached almost from floor to ceiling. When 
on our return we had got so far as the door, I 
was moved to look back. Facilitated by length 
of limb and my position across the room, it was 
an easy matter to see on top of that mirror, 
when, behold ! from thence gleamed down upon 
us those teeth, in the cunningest, most laughter- 
provoking way you could ever think of. I 
never, never will forget that grin. Laura 
laughed outright at the spectacle. Eimning 
back, she snatched them down from their exalted 
position and fled down stairs with them. 

We concluded she’d put them on the glass for 
safety and then forgot all about it. 

^^Here are you teeth, Aunt Ellen,” says Laura 
in an unruflled tone. 

Margaret Ellen’s mouth went together with 
a smack, and she bobbed up as serenely from 
that bed of affliction as if nothing had occurred 
to mar the uneven tenor of her existence. 

‘AYell, I do declare!” she ventured, with a 
smile. 

^ ^ Thank you, Laura, how kind you are. ’ ’ Then 
turning to Granny and me she continued in plac- 
id tones, ^Msn’t this a lovely day?” We were 
sufficiently discerning to understand she wished 
to ignore the little episode of which we’d been 


10 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


participants, and without further delay we took 
our departure, believing some such occasion 
would demand our presence again soon. 

But pardon this digression, for Margaret 
Ellen is not the heroine of my story, although 
she tills a niche in its recital. My purpose was 
to tell you of Laura Dane’s struggle to win 
bread sufficient to alleviate the hunger of three, 
who had been accustomed to all the luxuries 
money could purchase. Whether she failed or 
succeeded in her endeavor to scale the heights 
of poverty fate had thrust upon her, I will at- 
tempt to relate, if you have the courage to fol- 
low me through this narrative. 


CHAPTEE II. 


A Stbuggle With Fate. 

At the time of the tooth convention, I knew 
but little respecting the Danes, knew only that 
they were wealthy, influential people, living over 

adjacent to L , twelve miles away. Jim 

Drane, Laura’s father, was a speculator of some 
kind, said to be operating on borrowed funds,, 
and that the bottom was expected to drop out- 
of his business at any moment and let fall him 
and his family through the hole that was left,, 
which thing did happen at no distant period;:, 
and to cap the trouble, as soon as the crash came,. 
Jim took sick of grief, typhoid and pneumonia 
mixed, lay down and died, thereby flinging his., 
family out on the merciless charity of the un- 
heeding world, with not a penny they might call 
their own, after the indebtedness was canceled^ 
Everything was sold — town house, country 
home, furniture, books, piano, pictures — 
not even that tomfoolery called bricabrac- 
would Laura reserve: said it would be 
dishonest, and Margit Ellen declared, ^^If 
there had been a Garden of Eden some- 


12 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


where convenient to which Laura might 
have retired she believed she would have 
sold the clothes from her back; that she thought 
carefully, earnestly of selling that fine suit of 
hair and purchasing a lot of honey-bees her 
father had bought to try his luck at bee-keeping, 
but Bob Kenner had so ridiculed the idea of a 
wig that Laura decided not to part with her 
pretty locks. ’ ’ Jack Winton, a rich young farm- 
er living near us, bought the bees, also the piano, 
books, pictures, etc. Whether true or not, fwas 
said Jim Drane was owing Jack money. The 
question arose also as to what Jack wanted with 
a piano, being a bachelor of thirty summers, but 
Jack knew his own mind, had always attended 
strictly to his own business and laid by consid- 
erable money on that line of action. Neither did 
he give satisfactory replies when questioned on 
whom that favored allotment should fall. Some 
folks got very impatient and wagged their 
tongues assiduously, and for quite a spell before 
the matter came to a head Twas pretty well 
aired that Jack Winton loved Laura Dane, and 
would fain have married her, but she allowed 
Fred Norton, the son of a wealthy banker, to 
get possession of her heart before she had 
reached the age of sixteen. Lute Kenner oblig- 
ingly enlightened me on these points. Lute was 
just the right age for tattling, and her mother, 


OF KENTUCKY 


IS 


feeling little interest in her girlish enthusiasms, 
and confidences, I became the recipient of many 
ardent outpourings of a young girl’s fancies. 
Oh, Lute was pure and sweet and loving and 
pretty. I courted her confidences, and gave ear 
to any amount of visionary chatter, that I might 
have her often to see me. 

I knew Jack Winton well; he lived near us 
with a widowed aunt as housekeeper, at Hazel- 
dean, his pretty home. I had never at this time 
seen Fred Norton, but it was expected by many, 
especially the attend-to-everyhody’’s-husiness~ 
but-your-oivn kind of people, that Mr. Norton 
would come to the rescue by marrying Laura 
and taking charge of the homeless, destitute 
family, consisting only of Laura, her mother 
and little brother Kenner. Laura’s mother was 
Bob Kenner’s sister, and a great invalid, who 
scarcely ever stirred beyond her own threshold. 

Fred Norton didn’t show up at all as care- 
taker, and one-half the know-it-alls said Laura 
was responsible, the other half contended she 
was not, but would marry him off-hand at a 
moment’s notice. It happens quite frequently 
that women are misjudged in a matrimonial set- 
tlement. Lute informed me that Laura didn’t 
propose burdening Mr. Norton; and there might 
possibly be another reason; besides, the Nor- 
tons were not inclined to receive Laura into the 


14 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


family after the Danes lost their money. Boh 
Kenner settled the Danes in a cottage near him. 
The cottage was near Grimes Station, on 
the main line where the cars stopped 

going to and from L . He conld 

never get Laura’s consent to make a 
home with his family. Her little cot- 
tage was near my own home, and to he neighbor- 
ly and show respect to the new arrivals and due 
consideration for their losses, I took my knit- 
ting (as country people usually do carry some 
light work in making calls) one bright October 
afternoon and made them a visit. My sympa- 
thies always run out after those who lose, or 
those who take a sudden rise ; it goes hard with 
most people either way. 

Laura seemed pleased at having me call; I 
believe she was honest in her expressions of 
pleasure. She conducted me immediately to her 
mother’s room, and when I first set eyes on Mrs. 
Dane I caught my breath quickly, for I was 
startled into the belief that she was dead, sur- 
rounded by pillows, ruffles and laces. Each 
article surrounding her was trimmed with pretty 
lace. Her face was almost as white as bleached 
linen; her eyes, I discovered when she raised 
them to my face, were blue as spring violets and 
bright as stars. She held a spray of late tea 
roses in her right hand ; the other, resembling a 


OF KENTUCKY 


15 


snow-flake, lay idle on the white quilt. Seem- 
ingly all you had to do to transform her into an 
angel was to clap a pair of wings onto her 
shoulders and give her a light toss up into the 
air. Oh, so dainty, so delicate and etherial- 
looking! For many, many days I recalled viv- 
idly my first sight of that frail, fragile little 
woman, and Laura’s solicitude regarding her 
comfort. That she was a sister of Bob Kenner 
seemed incredible ; he was all brawn and muscle. 

While making my visit, Laura asked me how 
we kept Irish potatoes through winter. I re- 
plied: ‘WYe dig a hole in the ground two feet 
deep, size according to amount of potatoes to 
be cared for, line the excavation well with dry 
straw, pour in your potatoes, cover with straw, 
then mound up with the dirt thrown from the 
cavity; dig a channel around the base and roof 
over with three-foot boards, and, to use a fa- 
vorite expression of the Old Man’s, ^you’ll have 
nice, plump ^‘taters” till May.” ” (Now, be 
it understood, this old man of mine had no more 
respect for the English language than he had 
for a stray ‘‘yaller” dog.) 

bought my potatoes,” said she, ''and not 
wishing to trouble Uncle Kenner, thought I 
would bury them myself.” 

' ' The dear knows ! ”, I exclaimed, glancing at 
her pretty white hands, "you don’t mean it!” 


16 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


do mean it/’ she replied; ‘^come see my 
potatoes.” I heard her mother sigh, and saw 
the tears come into her eyes as Laura and I 
started to the garden, where she had dug and 
scooped out a small cavity with the help of her 
little brother Kenner. I caught up the hoe and 
finished the work for her. I was familiar with 
all kinds of work, in and out doors; had often 
supervised the burying of potatoes; besides, I 
was learning to think much of Laura, and was 
willing to render her any assistance in my 
power ; she showed such a disposition to rise up 
and stand alone that I was inclined to extend 
a helping hand. 

When we had completed the work -and lin- 
gered talking a moment, I looked across the ad- 
joining lot and saw a dozen or more stands of 
bees. 

‘ ^ Whose bees out there ? ” I asked. 

^^Mine,” she replied. 

‘Wours? What in the world are you going 
to do with them?” I questioned, aroused. 

Going into bee culture,” she quietly an- 
swered. 

''Have mercy on yourself, child, and don’t 
engage in any such dangerous experiment as 
risking yourself in the company of tees, you’ll 
get stung to death.” 



LAURA DANE 





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OF KENTUCKY 


IT 


^^Oh, no/’ she answered, shall fortify 
against stings. I have all the equipment for the 
purpose, have also a book called B C of Bee 
Culture.’ I hope to make a success of my ven- 
ture after a thorough study of my book.” 

^AYell,” I remarked, might study the bee 
alphabet from A to izzard, and the only thing 
I’d succeed in would be to break my neck run- 
ning from ’em.” 

Now, I’d heard of Jack Winton buying the 
bees at Jim Drane’s sale, had got them for a 
mere song. No one made a bid but Jack, and 
they were knocked oif to him at fifty cents a 
stand, for the reason that most people are afraid 
to handle bees, and it dawned on my mind that 
to get rid of them he’d given them to Laura. 

‘‘Where did you get your bees, Laura?” I 
questioned. 

“They were father’s,” she answered. “He 
had thought of engaging in bee culture. Mr. 
Winton bought them, and hearing me say before 
the s<ale I should like to own them, he sold them 
to me for one dollar and fifty cents a stand, 
father paid three dollars.” 

“Oh! Oh! How could he — ” I didn’t proceed 
with my exclamation further. Had I done so, it 
would have ended — “how could he be guilty of 
anything so contemptible as to make you pay so 
much as that ! ’ ’ And he knew what a. fight she 


18 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


was having just then with adverse circum- 
stances. I laid up in my mind to give Jack Win- 
ton a serious going over for this niggardly, ava- 
ricious act. In my mind^s eye he looked then 
about the size of 6 % cents. 

Poor Laura, she was just entering on her 
struggle in an effort to fight the wolf, and if 
there was no more charity shown her by others 
than Jack had deigned her, the battle was likely 
to be a fierce one. I was disgusted with him, 
and there arose in my soul a longing to tell him 
just the impression his conduct had made on me. 
I watched with eager eyes for his (appearing, 
I meant to handle him without gloves. Oh yes, 
indeed, he’d accomplished wonders in getting 
rid of a lot of no-account bees ; she’d never real- 
ize a particle of benefit from her bees, notwith 
standing her study of their language, for I sup- 
posed after their ABC she’d study their 
method of spelling, reading and writing, sting- 
ing and honey-making, etc. 


CHAPTER III. 


Jack as a Happy Lover. 

Yes, I watched with much solicitude for his 
appearing, but my designs upon him were frus- 
trated for some time; it was near Christmas be- 
fore he came. 

Jack Winton was a young man that old man 
Spindle and I esteemed very highly. He owned 
a plantation near us, a pretty home he called 
Hazeldean, and he came to our house so fre- 
quently to talk with the old man of stock ven- 
tures, crop prospects, the available methods on 
the extermination of potato bugs, Hessian flies 
and so on, that we’d come almost to regard him 
as a member of our family, so that I felt at lib- 
erty to take strenuous measures, as I then 
thought, with his inordinate love of gain. He 
came after the sharp edge of my ire had pretty 
well worn off, and my scolding was not as severe 
as I meant it should be. He listened with due 
respect and patience to my sermon, but I could 
see by the merry twinkle in that fine blue eye of 
his that it was all thrown away, for he burst out 
laughing before I concluded my harangue. 


20 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘^Did you know Laura was giving me music 
lessons r’ ‘^‘She wanted the bees and I needed 
the music lessons. She wouldnT consent to 
teach me till I offered her the bees in payment. 
Only think, if I had sold as I bought, my lessons- 
would not have extended over two months. Since 
she is to pay me eighteen dollars, I think I shall 
acquire a pretty thorough knowledge of music. 
I’ve only been getting lessons four weeks, (and 
I’ve got as far as quavers, semidemi quavers, 
and double semidemi quavers. The trouble is,, 
she will allow me but two lessons each week;, 
says I can do my practicing at home; for, under^ 
stand, I get my lessons on Lute’s piano, and be- 
side Lute and me, she has two other music pupils 
and pretends the piano is fully occupied. Aside- 
from this, at night she is teaching a grammar 
class of a dozen girls and boys. Being sadly de- 
ficient in English grammar, I was anxious to 
join the class, but she refused me outright — said 
she couldn’t take charge of over-grown boys. 
Think of that, will you; las if I weren’t old 
enough to conduct myself properly. Only last 
week, I believe it was, I found a gray hair among: 
my black locks. I was filled with dismay for the- 
moment, but recalled Laura’s remark that I was 
an overgrown boy; that thought braced me up 
and tided me over some kind of a fit that I felt 
coming on.” He talked rapidly and nervously. 


OF KENTUCKY 


21 


‘‘Now, there’s Pete Grimes, who is two inches 
taller than I; she is teaching him Latin, and 
when — ” 

“See here. Jack Winton,” I interrupted, 
'“straws show which way the wind sets; you’re 
not striving to gain a knowledge of music; all 
you’re aiming at is to get near Laura Dean. How 
will that avail you when you know well enough 
she is plighted to Fred Norton and loves him; 
it’s love that makes the most matches.” 

“Yes,” he more calmly replied, “that’s the 
line I’m working on: ‘love begets love,’ ’tis 
«aid.” 

“I’ve seen Mr. Norton,” I interrupted, “and 
he’s as handsome as^ — as Apollo, whoever Apollo 
is. I’ve heard Alma speak of Apollo as being 
a beauty, in a way that makes me believe she’s 
well acquainted with him, and knows whereof 
she speaks, and I take it for granted Mr. Nor- 
ton’s as handsome as Apollo.” 

“And as profligate as Bacchus,” returned 
Jack, “for he’s a gambler and a wine-bibber.” 

“Don’t let your jealousy cause you to deviate 
from the truth, Jack,” I admonished, in a se- 
rious tone. “Who is Bacchus, anyway? I’ve 
never had the pleasure of meeting him.” I was 
trying to be sarcastic. 


22 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘‘Possibly not/’ be replied laughing; “he’s a 
relative of your Apollo, who was a trifling 
chap. ’ ’ 

“You’ve never seen Apollo, and I doubt much 
if you ever heard of him till to-day, ’ ’ I returned, 
a little nettled over his criticism. 

“But,” says Jack, “I’ve seen his relative 
Bacchus, perform and his conduct dovetails 
nicely with Norton’s. I have the history of 
Apollo and Bacchus in book form, and will fetch 
it over for your perusal, so you may understand 
your comparisons when made are correct ones. ’ ^ 

I read his book, for I avail myself of every 
chance offer to get information. Old man Spin- 
dle and I are altogether different in that re- 
spect. Neither is he at all handicapped in con- 
versation by the thought that his expressions 
are not of the most approved sort; says there 
is no sense in casting aside good every-day 
words for finiky Sunday talk. But, oh! the 
grain, the hay, the vegetables he raises, and the 
premiums he picks up at the fairs are sufficient 
to make him the chronic grinner he is. Yes, he 
is all right in his own sphere, and looks a thou- 
sandfold handsomer to me to-day than he did 
the hour I took him for better, for worse. Yety 
notwithstanding this, we have our little diver- 
sities of opinion, but never scratch, kick or bite, 
however unkind and inhospitable he may feel 


OF KENTUCKY 


2a 


towards good English; my deficiencies in this 
are sufficient for the family. 

Yes, I read Jack’s book, and thought as Queen 
Bess did when she visited the numskulls at Co- 
ventry, at sight of whom they exclaimed : ‘ ^ Good 
Lord, how fair you be!” Whereupon she re- 
plied : ^ ^ Good Lord, what fools you be ! ” 

I certainly echoed her sentiments, when I read 
concerning those Greeks and other heathen. I 
thought they beat the whole Coventry baliwick 
for foolishness. 

But to pick up Jack again. ‘‘I have seen Mr. 
Norton,” I continued, ^^and can hardly condemn 
Laura for placing her affiections on him. I like 
his appearance; he doesn’t seem like a man 
given to backbiting or jealousy; but there’s no 
telling what he would do if there were cause for 
jealousy, ^^for neither men or women are angels 
till they shake loose the earthly dust. ’ ’ 

I had a strong friendship for Jack Winton, 
and I disliked having him bestow that great 
warm heart of his on Laura, with no prospect of 
a return on her part, and so I tried, but it 
seemed inetfectually, to dampen his ardor. 

Since it is impossible,” said he, ^Ho con- 
template Mr. Norton as critically as you appear 
to have done, and not see his diamonds and cig- 
larette, it is pertinent here to ask, if he was ac- 
companied by the last-named articles!” 


24 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


“Oh, well, Jack,’’ I returned, “there’s no 
harm in wearing diamonds, if one can afford to 
do it. If I’m not mistaken you wear one your- 
self.” 

“Not to obtrusiveness do I wear them. And 
granting it an innocent, weak leaning towards 
vanity, where is the innocence or wisdom in 
using wine to an excess, or lurking about gamb- 
ling dens?” and he tapped his boot toe on the 
floor in a manner to accentuate what he said. 

“He at least,” said I, “betrayed good judg- 
ment when he fell in love with Laura and wanted 
to marry her.” 

“Thank you,” he said, “I feel that a compli- 
ment to my own wisdom, and in the years to 
come we will see which she has the wisdom to 
accept, or, rather, to which she surrenders her 
affections.” 

“It is presumed she has already bestowed her 
affections on Fred Norton, and I believe she’s 
a girl likely to fulfill a sacred promise,” I re- 
turned. 

“But there is such a thing as being off with 
the old love and on with the new, ’ ’ he said con- 
fidently. “When her honey crop is harvested, 

she will carry it over to 1 j - , and peddle it 

around the streets. She’ll never get into the 
Norton family after degrading herself in that 
manner. I encourage her all I can in the laud- 


OF KENTUCKY 


25 


able enterprise. You need not look at me in that 
sour way, jail things are fair in love and war, 
you know,” he said, moving away. 

So soon as Jack departed, I arrayed myself 
in shawl and bonnet and started for Laura’s; 
for, truth to tell, I had learned to love her to the 
extent that Jack’s information in regard to Mr. 
Norton had given me a restless desire to know 
something more definite. 

I had heard of her night school and music 
class, and that she’d taken charge of Pete 
Orimes’ education through the winter months, 
and he was to assist with the bees in the spring. 




CHAPTER IV. 


Pete. 

As I wended my way across the fields that di- 
vided ns from Lanra^s home, many thonghts 
took possession of me; but the one that ob- 
truded itself mostly to the front was what Jack 
had let out about Fred Norton. 

I had seen him only once. He had 

run down from the city on a wheel 
(Old Man calls them ‘‘he-bickles’’)> 
had stopped at Barney Grimes’ board- 
ing house. Barney also kept groceries^ 
land I had gone across to make a purchase. 
Reaching the store, the first object that caught 
my view was a stranger, an unmistakably hand- 
some man, arrayed in a most elegant and becom- 
ing attire. Diamond ring, diamond stud, cigar- 
ette held daintily between lips or fingers, he 
was leaning contentedly back on the porch, in 
the autumn sunshine, while the diamond 
gleamed and sparkled in the morning light, as 
the hand holding the cigarette moved gracefully 
to and fro. Before Barney’s introduction, I 
knew intuitively it was Fred Norton down to 


OF KENTUCKY 


27 ' 


see Laura. I felt glad in my heart for her sake. 
I didn’t like to entertain the thought, or have 
others think, the love affair between them was a 
one-sided thing; and now here he was and hadn’i 
given her up at all, and I made up my mind in- 
stantly to like him and to espouse his cause, not- 
withstanding my friend Jack Winton. He didn’t, 
look like a man who imbibed too freely, and I 
wouldn’t believe it, although the thought clung 
persistently to me every step I took in the di- 
rection of Laura’s. Finally, by force of will, I 
drove it from my mind and caught up another 
strain : that was, how Laura proposed to man- 
age such la big, lazy lout as Pete Grimes. True^ 
he took to books amazingly, but work — ugh! 

I knew that bee business would require work 
from some quarter, and I believed if Laura 
meant to place the duty on Pete’s shoulders, the 
enterprise would collapse. He was dodgy about 
work; indeed, he’d had fine practice in dodges 
of various kinds, had spent about two years of 
his childhood dodging the switches Barney, his 
father, had kept constantly whisking in the at- 
mosphere surrounding his little legs and should- 
ers. After a chastisement of this nature, he 
would generally hide away for a day or so ; and 
his mind, when it did not lead him to the obscur- 
ity of the hay-loft, would take him to Miss Jean- 
nett Carvil’s. She was an old maid who, in ante- 


28 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


bellum days, could lay claim to many lovers, 
many friends, many slaves and much lands ; now 
with the exception of two old family servants, 
she was alone. And Pete usually turned to her 
after a skirmish at home, and always met with 
comfort and sjunpathy. As the years grew on 
apace, the bond of friendship existing between 
them was intensified, for Miss Jeannett owned 
a library, well stocked with valuable books, 
which Pete borrowed and eagerly devoured. 

Yet Barney had cleared his skirts as far as 
fhe Scripture enjoined it upon him not to spare 
the rod, but in this instance too much use of the 
rod seemed to have had a contrary effect to the 
one desired; for, however warm and lively the 
occasion on which that rod played its part, it 
never inspired Pete with a desire to work. If 
he was set to hoeing potatoes, or ploughing old 
Jule in the corn patch, the first thing Barney 
knew the hoe would be idle, old Jule sleeping 
placidly in the furrow, while Pete, spread out 
in the shade, would be pouring over one of Miss 
JeannetPs books. He got on nicely in school 
till on one occasion, when twelve or thirteen 
years old, he and the teacher disagreed over the 
-correct pronunciation of a word. They came 
almost to blows, and Pete, to prove he was 
right, trudged all the way to L and bor- 

rowed an unabridged dictionary of Judge Hoi- 


OF KENTUCKY 


2 ^ 


lis. However, lie was expelled from school for 
knowing more than the teacher and raising a 
row abont it. It appeared the trustees of the 
school had more respect for the teacher than for 
the unabridged dictionary, though I heard it was. 
of enormous size. 

Barney put him in the grocery, in which he 
kept a few drugs ; in this capacity he came well 
nigh being the death of several people — gave one 
man tartar emetic instead of cream tartar, etc. 
One old lady, desiring to make la, cake, and hav- 
ing on hand at the same time a sick neighbor 
in need of calomel, went to the grocery to supply 
the needs of each. Pete weighed it up all rights 
but made a mistake in labeling. The old lady 
administered the cream tartar to her friend with 
wonderfully good effect; made her cake, using 
the calomel, and, being of an economizing turn, 
she licked the bowl the cake was made in. The 
cake failed to materialize properly, but the cal- 
omel performed its office admirably; in fact, to 
the extent that a doctor ^s presence became nec- 
essary to aissuage the disturbance. Barney paid 
hush money and no more was heard about 
Pete’s mistake. 

About this time Granny Grimes said to me: 
‘^Pete’s tuck a mind to go to Callyforn and live 
on a rench all by hisself, and it is turrible heart- 
breakin’ to think of.” 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


-:30 


I replied : ‘ ^ In all probability it would be the 
upbuilding of Pete. ’ ^ 

‘‘Yes/^ s»aid she, ^^but it would be the down- 
pullin’ of me and his mother; it makes me weak 
in the knees to think of him gwine oft so fur, 
with not a sign of kin to look after him. He’s 
the master boy to keek the kiver off at night ever 
was, and Betty alers looks to it that he’s got 
the blanket well pulled up about his naik and 
years. ’Sides, ther’s that loop to run th’ough 
on the road, <an’ who knows but he’d git his head 
into it and hang tell he choked to death. He tole 
me his own self the danger of gittin’ on the 
yander side of that thar loop. Barney’s got a 
lot of money, an’ ef he’d unly give ’im a chance 
at schoolin’, he’d do well enough whar he’s at, 
fur he’s alers sayin’ ai book of some sort or 
nuther.” 

Pete’s journey to California was postponed 
indefinitely, or till his mother should become ac- 
<3ustomed to the thought of giving him up. His 
intention was kept constantly before her by his 
frequency of mentioning the fact. Pete loved 
his mother and disliked the pain he would cause 
her by an abrupt departure. But it happened 
just at the time his plans for leaving culminated, 
Laura came and the trip to California was 
abandoned. 


OF KENTUCKY 


31 


I trudged on and soon reached my destina- 
tion. Stepping on to the porch, I heard a ham- 
mering, as though some one were driving nails ; 
from the same direction came a murmur of 
voices. Kenner answered my knock and tip- 
toed me into his mother’s room, where I found 
her looking more angelic than ever, for she was 
quietly sleeping. A strange young girl of pleas- 
ing appearance was present in the room. I had 
heard of Laura taking from the city a poor, 
friendless, homeless young girl — Nellie Bond 
by name. I recognized this pleasant-faced girl 
as she before Kenner informed me in a whisper 
that it was Nellie Bond. He also informed me 
she could cook some, but nothing like I did, be- 
cause she got her receipts out of a book, whereas 
mine were home made and I carried them 
around in my head. 

Yes, I had heard of Nellie Bond’s advent. Few 
things transpired in our little village that the 
inhabitants did not soon become cognizant of, 
and children such as Kenner were wonderful 
inventions in keeping vibrant any little item; 
the most trivial matter was of interest to all, so 
we had no secrets at that time. 

Now this same little Kenner was a special 
friend of mine. He would run over to see me as 
many times as there were days in the week, and 
I kept some dainty ever ready for his digestion, 


32 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


and it was marvelous the amount he could enter- 
tain, seemingly without inconvenience. A lo- 
quacious little chap, could propound more ques- 
tions than you could answer in a life-time. A 
perfectly rounded-up interrogation point. The 
dictionaries and encyclopedias were not in it 
in giving correct answers to his' queries. He 
was also far-reaching in his search after knowl- 
edge, not confined to any particular line or 
method in his explorations, but continually on 
the alert for information. One day, while in 
my garden, we found some late blooming 
Johnny-jump-up s. He wanted to know why 
with equal propriety they couldnT be called 
Johnny- jump-downs? Why butterflies weren’t 
more appropriately called flutter-bys, for that 
was what they did, and it was seldom, if ever, 
you could catch one; and why gallinippers 
weren’t called girl-nippers? Once he asked me 
why people didn’t begin at the other end of life 
and grow young instead of old. Where did 
thoughts and thinks come from? Did they get 
into a body’s head through ears, nose or mouth; 
how, when they got there, they managed to get 
on the tongue and say things? And why we 
didn’t say thunk instead of think? I felt a little 
more at ease in grammar than metaphysics, but 
nothing to boast of in either, so answered him 
as well as I could in the first; evasively in the 



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OF KENTUCKY 


33 


last. ‘^Aslv Laura, and when Alma comes home, 
ask her; she knows everything.’’ 

^AVho told Alma things?” was the next 
query, ^^and how did them that told her get 
their information ? ’ ’ 

^^Ask her, ask her, ask her,” was my reply. 

Upon the occasion of my visit to Laura, (after 
gazing intently for a moment upon his sleeping 
mother, he turned to me and asked in a breezy 
whisper how folk got to and fro from dream 
places so quickly without getting on the cars, 
or riding a wheel. Did they just fly or jump 
back home as their eyes came open? To quell 
him at once I dropped my hand into my -apron 
pocket and drew therefrom a few ginger snaps, 
handing them to him, I asked where Laura was. 

‘^Her ’n’ ’Ete’s in er ’koo’ ’oom,” he replied, 
as well as he could for the three ginger snaps 
he had stulfed in his mouth and was striving to 
masticate. 

He meant to say: ^^Her and Pete are in the 
school room.” 

After craning his neck and struggling a mo- 
ment, he swallow the snaps and said: Pete’s 
at his Latin, come and hear him.” Which we 
did. 

I had discovered Laura was ingenious and 
clever, but what was my surprise to find her 
hammering her bee-hives together in a way I 


34 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


had never dreamed of seeing her or any other 
woman do. Pete sat with his chair tilted back 
against her work-bench. He reposed there in all 
his indolent glory, gabbling like a goose from 
an old greasy, yellow-back book. As near as I 
can recall, this is what he was uttering: ‘‘I’m 
a mole, I’m a ram, I‘m a rat, I’m a banner, I’m 
a banty, I’m a bat,” and so on and so forth. 
There was not an atom of sense in it for me, be 
it Latin or bosh. 

‘ ‘ The deary me ! ” I exclaimed, as I was towed 
into the room by Kenner, who had never lost his 
hold of my apron since I had given him the 
ginger snaps, in the hope, I think, that my pock- 
et could reveal more snaps if it would. 

“Laura Dane! what are you doing now?” 

“Making bee-hives,” she answered brightly. 

“Well, bless my life, who would have believed 
it ! And you, Pete, why do you not lend la hand 
and help her instead of gabbling like a Dutch 
Dago from that old greasy book?” 

“He is reviewing his Latin,” said Laura very 
sweetly. 

“Well, Laura, I would not stand here and 
hearken to any such nonsense as' that I heard 
when I entered this room.” 

“It’s no more nonsense,” she replied, “than 
nailing these strips together and making a bee- 
hive. Only see ! ” pointing to three hives already 


OF KENTUCKY 


35 


finished. get this material ready for use, 
nothing to do but nail together. ’ ’ 

Looking at me seriously: ‘‘You see I’m in 
down-right earnest about my bee venture. I’m 
making ready for swarming time next spring; 
but for my bees I should never have known 
with what dexterity I could handle saw, nails 
and ham m er. 

Pete rose from his chair with a yawn, closed 
his' book and went in the direction of the door. 
I observed his shoe strings were tied, his collar 
buttoned and his hair brushed neatly away from 
a fine open brow, a thing I’d never known either 
to be guilty of before ; indeed, he looked uncom- 
monly neat altogether. As he passed from the 
room he turned and looked back at Laura, who 
had already faced about in his direction. 

‘‘To-morrow!” he questioned. 

She nodded a smiling reply. 

“Ta, ta,” says Pete, and the door closed, 
’shutting him out. 

Laura evinced no displeasure at my intru- 
sion; nevertheless, I apologized and then pro- 
ceeded to inquire what she proposed making of 
that good-for-nothing, worthless lad. “You 
surely don’t think you can turn him to ac- 
count!” and I gazed intently at her through my 
spectacles, to give emphasis to my query ; I usu- 
ally wore them on top of my head. 


36 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


She answered pleasantly: am not propos- 

ing to do anything with him ; it is he who is put- 
ting his purposes into effect. I teach him this 
winter ; in the spring and summer he is to assist 
me in my apiary. He is truly a very intelligent 
young man. ^ ^ 

^‘He’s no more than nineteen or twenty, and 
you call him a young man,’’ throwing a little 
sarcasm into my speech, at which she seemed 
surprised. 

‘‘Ho matter what his age may be,” she re- 
plied, ’ ’ he is thoroughly kind and courteous and 
will make a fine Latin scholar. Pretty soon he 
will go from his reader to Seizeher/^ 

Understand at that time I was ignorant of 
what she meant. Looking at her blankly, T in- 
quired who “.s/ie” was, and what terrible thing 
had “5/ie” done that he was going to seize 
herf^^ 

Oh dear me ! I wish you could have seen the 
expression on her face at that moment, for I’m 
unable to describe it. She dropped onto the 
chair Pete had vacated and burst into a peal of 
laughter, spontaneous, uncontrollable, that 
stirred up my anxiety, not only for fear of 
awakening her mother, but on her own account ; 
I didn’t know but she’d really gone “franzy,”* 
as Old Man says of people who are delirious. 
Seeing Kenner laugh, I joined in for company. 


OF KENTUCKY 


3T 


but for the life of me I couldn’t have told what 
caused our merriment. 

Pretty soon she recovered her equanimity 
and explained who Caesar was, even spelling the 
ibame for me. 

I said to her: ‘‘Laura, it’s a nice thing to be 
educated and understand all things, so as not 
to make mistakes and be criticised, and it seems 
strange that you are willing to chain yourself 
to a lot of bees in this dull village to teach a few 
donkeys (leaving out the girls) Latin, grammar 
and music. ^Vhy do you not seek another past- 
ure, where you might graze on more intellectual 

herbage. Go to L and teach in one of the 

high schools.” 

She looked up at me sharply, a slight color 
coming into her face when I named the donkeys 
and answered me in a changed mood: “I could 

not go to L to teach, it would take me away 

from mother. I’m interested in bee culture, 
and cannot thinly at present of any other source 
by which I can gain a livelihood and have her 
near me. I am content here; I trust my bees 
will prove remunerative, as I have made a sac- 
rifice of what small means I have had to supply 
myself with what is necessary to begin.” 

She picked up her hammer and gave a tap 
or two to the head of a nail that protruded from 
the hive she was at work on. I continued: 


38 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘^But I suppose you will be beading towards 

L some day, as it is where Mr. Norton 

lives, and his business engagements would not 
lallow him far from that point.’’ 

^Mn the event Mr. Norton’s business engage- 
ments do not regulate my movements, what 
then?” 

^^But there’s a prospect of you two going 
into partnership, you can’t deny that.” 

‘‘What, in bee culture?” she asked, as she 
picked up another nail and placed it for driving. 

“Laura, you can’t deny that rumor has it 
you’re betrothed to Fred Norton.” 

I looked her straight in the eye as I made- 
this observation. She didn’t blush or blink, or 
give any other sign a girl is likely to that’s in 
love with the man under discussion. I knew 
she had remarkable self-possession, and she 
might have prepared for this (accusation. As. 
she drove the nail home she answered indiffer- 
ently: “I do not think of denying or acknowl- 
edging it. ’ ’ 

Now I did not wish to thrust myself into her 
confidence uninvited, yet I was so curious and 
anxious in knowing if she trusted Fred Norton 
entirely, and I asked her abruptly enough: 
“Laura, is Fred Norton a liquor-loving young 
mian, or a moral, all around good young fel- 
low?” 


OF KENTUCKY 


;9 


As she looked from her work at me a troubled 
expression came into the bright brown eyes. 

do not know; I trust he is the last named. 
Then more cheerfully as she noted my serious 
aspect: ‘‘You’re not troubled over that thought 
on my account, are you? If so, put your mind 
at rest, I’m Laura Dane yet.” 

I brought my visit to a close with no satisfac- 
tory results, only troubled thoughts for Laura’s 
welfare, and I wished Alma had not gone away, 
she was such a consolation in times of anxiety. 

Now be it understood Alma Laurens was Old 
Man’s half sister, was educated and all, and 
forever and eternally gone from home — oft 
teaching, or proof reading, or helping to run a 
periodical. She called our house her home, but 
she was restless, dissatisfied with us, and seldom 
sought our roof as a shelter. She was not by 
any means as yet a homing pigeon. 


CHAPTER V. 


A COUNTBY WEDDING. 

Christmas came and went. Three moons 
waxed and waned. In January and February 
the young people of the station land surround- 
ing neighborhood entered upon a series of so- 
cials, parties and so on. Gayety reigned su- 
preme. Laura didnT attend these randies oft- 
en; when she did, Pete Grimes was her escort, 
which did not seem very remarkable at first, 
since she was teaching him. Lute kept me in- 
formed of their movements. About this time, 
the weather being cold and sharp, I lost scent 
of them for awhile, though an event occurred 
along the last of February that forced me into 
the giddy whirl of the Station society. 

There was a wedding — Sally Ann Smart and 
Hack Piper took it into their heads to marry. 
Sally Ann, being the only daughter, and in con- 
sideration that Hack was a sure, safe chance, 
the Smarts made an elaborate affair of it. All 
the paraphernalia requisite in the culinary de- 
partment was brought into play in the concoc- 
tion of edible dainties, and a fine supper was the 


OF KENTUCKY 


41 


outcome of the two weeks ^ baking, stewing, 
stuffing and tasting. Everybody neighboring 
the Station, far and nigh, young or old, got an 
invitation. With that mixed throng were to be 
found Fred Norton and Jack Winton; Jack was 
a neighbor, Fred was a visitor at the Station. 

The old man and I got into our Sundayest at- 
tire and joined the multitude. Laura and Fred 
Norton came in just before the ceremony went 
otf. Oh, I never saw so handsome, a so perfect- 
ly made up man outwardly in all my born days 
as that Fred Norton. On entering, he and 
Laura were muffed up to their eyes in furs. I 
heard one boy whisper to another : ^ ^ They look 
like two polar hars.’’^ There was no disrobing 
room in this unconventional establishment. Ev- 
ery one came to the big front room and removed 
outer garments. When Mr. Norton divested 
himself of that fur coat and cap he was good to 
look at, to be sure, and I was down-right cer- 
tain Apollo was no match for him. Tall and 
perfect in stature, dark hair and eyes rather 
dreamy, or sad, than gleaming, he and Laura 
were in the gayest spirits, the observed of all 
observers in that motley crowd. 

After the ceremony of getting Sally Ann and 
Hack into matrimonial harness and supper 
over, we cleared the big dining-room of tables, 
and Twas given over to the young people for 


42 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


tlie enjoyment of their games; and what a 
convivial time they made of that evening! The- 
■sound of revelry ran higher than in Belgium’s 
capital the eve before Waterloo. Not that I 
was in Belgium at that particular occiasion, but 
I’d read of it, and am sure they must have had 
a rattling time; yet I know the well-mannered 
English could not, nor would not, have raised 
such a din ias this lot of free-'born American 
youngsters of which I’m telling you. 

Jane Smart, Sally’s mother, and I remained 
Mn the dining-room to see the fun — ‘^Lookers-on 
in ’ so to speak. As a beginning of the 

evening’s amusement, there was a game called 
“Steal Partners,” or some such name. Those 
young men wishing to participate chose a part- 
ner from among the young ladies and formed 
a circle around the room. There was a lad of 
good size placed in the center of the circle, with 
a large handkerchief twisted into a stinging 
flail, which he was to use as <ai goad to move up 
delinquents, or those negligent of duty in re- 
spect of being found partnerless. My attention 
was drawn only to my own small circle of young 
friends. I observed Jack Winton chose the 
bride, Pete Grimes appropriated Lute, who 
was chatting merrily with Doctor Brice, the 
doctor solaced himself by choosing Callie Hart- 

ly- 


OF KENTUCKY 


43 :. 


A young man entered the ring, dashing across 
to the opposite side, he snatched some one’s 
girl ; he, left alone, stole another, and the scram- 
ble for partners was on. Hither and thither 
they flew in frenzied haste, and mortal fear of 
the twisted handkerchief. They went at a two- 
forty rate, whatever speed that may be, to 
escape McDuff, who with hearty good will was 
plying the flail to any unfortunate youth whom 
he found partnerless. 

Fred Norton had taken up a claim in the 
circle with Laurai for a companion when they 
first set out on that insane thieving ; but pretty 
soon Pete got a divorce, and quick as a flask 
he was leading Laura to his station. They’d 
not more than got settled than Jack Winton 
found himself companionless, and forthwith 
stole Laura from Pete, who instantly stole Nor- 
ton’s girl, and Norton whirled round and bore 
down on Jack’s headquarters, with McDutf in 
full chase. Laura started again for her first, 
home, but before they reached their destination,. 
Pete wafted her away once more to his side of 
the settlement. At this. Jack, whose post was^ 
near me, broke into a laugh. Norton turned 
with an ugly frown on his handsome face; the 
next instant Jack was without a partner, with 
McDutf ’s goad embracing his broad shoulders;; 


44 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


but be darted across to where Pete and Laura 
stood und whirled her again to his side. 

They whisked and switched those girls to and 
fro, hither and yon, till they must have gotten 
somewhat giddy, especially Laura, for when she 
and Jack halted she put up her hand to her 
brow. canT go on at this rate,’^ said she. 

Certainly not,’’ said Jack, ais he led her to 
a vacant seat at my left, reaching for old man 
Smart’s hat, that hung high against the wall 
•on a nail. With it he began fanning her vig- 
orously. 

‘ ^ How ridiculous ! ’ ’ she averred, with a smile. 

‘‘What, this unlawful purloining of a man’s 
property?” he asked, placing himself in a pro* 
tecting attitude between her and the revelers. 
He glanced over his shoulders in a sham, un- 
easy way to where the pilfering was going on 
with unabated fury. 

“Oh no, I mean — I mean — ” she stopped 
short, with a childish, troubled look into Jack’s 
face. 

“I know,” he replied; “you think there are 
too many claimants for one little hand.” And 
for just an instant he touched her hand tender- 

ly. 

She turned impatiently \away, moved over 
by my side, looked across at Norton, and asked 
me if I didn’t think the evening had grown 


OF KENTUCKY 


45 


T7armer; whereupon Jack, who was near by, 
waved old Smart hat afresh. 

‘^Do you mean to freeze meT’ she asked,, 
glancing up at him, (a displeased look on her 
face. 

‘^Oh, no,’^ he replied pleasantly, ^‘but if you 
are cold we will join this hurly-burly again.’’ 

^^Oh, no, no,” she answered decidedly, and 
cuddled up closely to my side, without another 
word to Jack, and I wondered where he found 
a place to which he might anchor even a dim 
hope of ever winning her. She appeared even 
to resent a kind look from him, and was con- 
stantly fighting his attentions. 

Soon after this by-play of Jack’s and Laura ’s- 
the thieving game closed out, and some one pro- 
posed ^‘Weavily Wheat.” Jane Smart pro- 
tested; said she knew nothing about the game, 
but the deacon had told her it was a ^^out’n^ 
out” dance, and they wouldn’t allow any ‘‘sich” 
under their ^‘rutf.” I informed her it was an 
old-fashioned country reel, with singing instead 
of fiddling, and I had in times afore assisted in 
stepping it otf, and it was possible and alto- 
gether probable the deacon would object; but, 
I added, I could see no more evil in ‘‘Weavily 
WTieat” than in the affair just closed. 

I saw Pete and Lute holding a whispered 
consultation, saw her smile up into his face and 


46 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


nod an approval to some remark of liis. I knew 
mischief was brewing, for yon can make noth- 
ing of young people, and to attempt a metamor- 
phosis would be a direct violation of the laws 
of nature. True, you might bundle the boys 
all into State prisons, where IVe heard no 
speech was allowed, and by fair or unfair 
means, secure the girls in convents, and I hon- 
estly believe they’d make use of this new meth- 
od of communication called telepathy (Old Man 
in reading calls it tell patty), thereby bringing 
<ionvents and prisons into trouble. 

Jane and I sat quietly awaiting developments. 
Pete gave Lute to Doctor Brice’s care, and pro- 
posed in a loud tone the assembly should study 
multiplication. Said it was a new method of 
instruction and would prove beneficial to all. 
There was a hearty, unanimous agreement and 
lie called out: Choose your partners,” with 
a look at Laura. ^‘Come, Miss Laura,” reach- 
ing a hand towards her. She telegraphed him 
a reply from her eyes; he swung round in 
search of another. 

Jack yet stood near Laura and me, but he 
made no move to claim her. I saw her glance 
shyly at Fred Norton as he moved our way, but 
Ab Smart, an awkward, too-long-in-the-lower 
limbs-for-his-Sunday-clothes kind of a young 
man requested her to join him as Norton asked 


OF KENTUCKY 


4T 


if she desired to go in pursuit of nuaithematics. 
She was truly desirous of being sociable with 
the Station young people and accepted Ab^s 
arm. 

‘‘Mr. Grimes/’ she called, “does this play 
in any respect resemble ‘Steal Partners?’ ” 

“Not in the least,” answered Pete, as he led 
the bride to that part of the room where the 
performance was beginning. It seemed out of 
place that any one should bestow on Pete the 
title of “Mr.”, for he’d never been anything 
hut simply ^^Pete/^ and I feared the bestowal 
of it might have a tendency to run into big-head; 
but I had not the time then to reflect much on 
the matter, for he was forming his lines for the 
fray, with partners facing — the same as for 
“Weavily Wheat,” which nothing more nor 
less it was, with a different air and skippings 
here and there in multiplication. 

“Now,” said he, “fellow citizens and lady 
residents, we will begin with the second line of 
the multiplication table, and to facilitate the 
work iand make it more cheerful, we will ac- 
company with a little movement and a quick 
metre tune. Look out!” Otf he plunged, with 
a hop and a jump, dragging Sally Ann along 
with him, for she showed a disposition to lag. 
Down and back again through the channel 


48 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


formed by the two lines of youngsters, and to 
the tune of ^^Yiankee Doodle,’^ he applied this: 

‘‘Twice eleven are twenty-two, 

And twice ten are twenty. 

Twice twelve are twenty-four. 

And twice fifteen are thirty. 

He turned Sally Ann loose, cavorted around 
and swung the first young lady on his left, per- 
formed a double shuffle before the second and 
swung her. She was a very diminutive young 
lady and in making the circuit he lifted her bod- 
ily from the floor, her apparel fluttering like 
banners in the breeze, generated by her rapid 
transit across the channel dividing the opposing 
ranks. The next one to swing was a girl of con- 
siderable averdupois, but she proved a midget 
in Peters hands, for he bounced her about as 
though she were a gum^-ball to be toyed with, 
lall the while singing his multiplication. 

“Oh, Pete! Petel^’ remonstrated Sally Ann, 
“I canT go any further with this, do stop!^' 

Pete bounded on, and without varying the 
time sang out his answer — 

“Miss Sally Ann, if you don’t care, 

To study mul ’plication. 

Just quit the floor and let us go 
On with our recreation.” 


OF KENTUCKY 


49 


Whereupon several deserted, but no word was 
■spoken in objection to that particular method 
of acquiring mathematical knowledge. 

Pete swung another, and on he cantered, 
standing not upon the order of going, but speed- 
ing on. There was a chorus of voices mingled 
with his not unmusical tones, but a heart-rend- 
ing abuse of multiplication. 

Says Irene Smart: ^^They do ’pear to ketch 
on right hearty; see how peert they set otf the 
figers. I ’spose if they take it inter the’r heels 
as well as the’r heads, they’ll have it prime; 
an’ I b’lieve ef I had it to lam I’d ruther take 
it that way,” and she smiled at me real lamb- 
like and unsuspecting. I said nothing, but 
thought if there was anything of whatever di- 
mensions or shape or attitude that could fall 
athwart her vision and bring a smile to her 
careworn face, let it come; for she had many 
worries, ten children and carried generally a 
pulled-through-the-flax-hackle look about with 
her; also the deacon was domineering in his 
attitude toward his wife and family. 

Pete swung along till he reached the bottom 
of the line where Laura stood, for she was as 
innocent as Jane Smart as to the character of 
the play. She wais a member of the Baptist 
church, and I foresaw when that body heard 
of this little diversion of hers she’d have to 


50 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


run the gauntlet of a trial. As Pete whirled 
her around she said something to him I didnT 
catch, but I heard his half audible reply of ‘ ‘ ten 
thirty train. It surely wasnT lany thing very 
pleasant they referred to, for both looked se- 
rious enough when their eyes met, which was 
often. There seemed to be, all evening, a tele- 
graph line running from his eyes to hers, in a 
way I didnT understand, and consequently 
didn’t approve of. I was feeling cross lat Laura 
for manifesting so much interest in Pete 
Grimes. Why was she so content down here at 
the Station with us country clods? Was the 
reason she gave me a true one? Perhaps she 
had some wild, fanciful ideas concerning Pete, 
and had endowed him in her mind with some 
very deserving attributes of character he did 
not possess, as far as my discernment could 
penetrate; or, she might hold some romantic 
ideas concerning marriage, as many young girls 
do. 

I sat there and pondered and thought, thought 
and pondered. Thoughts are very quick, unruly 
and sometimes very impudent; offensively for- 
ward in taking hold on you whether or no, and 
will rain down upon you by the bunch. The 
one paramount in my brain was that she’d 
turned foolish and fallen in love with that 
freak of nature, Pete Grimes, and was going 


OF KENTUCKY 


51 


to elope with him on ‘Hhe ten thirty.’’ I had 
read somewhat of romance and the hero and 
shero were up to just such by-play as this 
<?ouple was practicing. I lost sight of myself 
and my surroundings, was deciding in my mind 
I would withdraw from Laura my friendship, 
cease caring for her in any respect. At this 
point Jane gave me a nudge in the ribs; with 
a quick questioning look into my face, asked if 
I was trying to learn it. 

Now, ’’said she,^4f it didn’t seem out’n place 
for old uns like us to understand sich things, 
we mought git out there and take la hand. I dare 
venter we could take it in quick as the young- 
sters.” 

^^Jane,” I said solemnly, ‘Uet’s retire to an- 
other room. 


CHAPTEE VI. 


A POLITICAL SPAT. 

We found old man Spindle and Deaeon Smart 
floundering in a political vat. As fast as one- 
would climb to terra firma in bis largument, the 
otber by some convincing statement would 
souse him in again, for tbeir political views dif- 
fered. They continued bobbing up and down 
and floundering around in that political mud 
puddle of their own designing till I grew dis- 
gusted, and wondered how women could ever 
make up their minds to go rushing off into pol- 
itics. I was anxious concerning Laura, and an 
uncontrollable desire fastened on me to be at the- 
Station when the ‘^ten thirty’’ came in. We 
lived beyond the railroad track, and by starting 
home early I could effect my desire; so I ap- 
prised the old man of my readiness to go home.. 
As we trudged along he remiarked: 

‘^Now I ’low I’ve licked old Smart clean out ’n 
the political arena with the truths and ar- 
gyments I brung to bear on his party and their 
carryin’s on.” 


OF KENTUCKY 


sa 


I replied: ‘‘You could both have licked till 
you’d have wrenched your tongues out in your 
efforts to clean each other up, and you’d have 
emerged from that lickin’ filthy as ever. When- 
ever I see two old political blunders like you and 
"Smart trying to rend a plank from each other’s 
platform, or reconstruct State matters, I feel 
it is time for men of sense and unclouded views 
to take a back seat. Let me refer you to one in- 
stance of your incapacity to judge between right 
and wrong.” 

‘ ‘ Pitch in, ’ ’ he snapped. 

He was ahead of me carrying the lantern, and 
I clutched him by the coat-tail to hold him quiet 
till I could say my say. 

“John Isaac, don’t you remember the man 
you helped to put in office three years ago? 
Don’t you remember he favored the open sa- 
loon? Don’t you remember the fight and strug- 
gle poor Tom Lane underwent to hold in sub- 
jection that craving appetite he had acquired 
for strong drink? Say! don’t you remember 
it, John Isaac Spindle?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, ’ ’ said he, “ I mind all that ; but Tom, 
you know, wias a weak-kneed kind of a fellow, 
and when temptation assailed him, w’y he went 
under. ’ ’ 

“Who helped put the temptation in his way, 
do you know, Mr. Spindle ? ’ ’ 


54 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


I never called him Mr. Spindle unless I was? 
cross-grained in feeling. 

‘Mt was the very devil in you when you re- 
fused to listen to the pleadings of Tom’s poor 
heart-broken wife the morning she entreated 
you not to vote that ticket. Your plea was, you 
voted with many other Christian men in order 
to do away with a greater evil than the open sa- 
loon. Where can you find a greater evil than 
the saloon? And then when poor Tom took to 
the saloon again and fell, you good Christian 
voters threw him out of the church for drunk- 
enness. You helped wreck his home and send 
him to hell. Much comfort may you get out of 
the thought. The idea of you and old Dick 
Smart putting yourselves forward as Christian 
politicians ! Good Lord ! ’ ’ 

I let go my hold on his coat-tail after this: 
hurst. I knew full well if there was a defective 
streak in the old man’s make-up it consisted in 
the nonsensical idea he’d got into his head that 
he was a first-class politician, but my efforts to 
eradicate this notion from his bald head had 
been futile so far. 

‘‘Old ’oman,” he said, turning for a moment 
a grinning countenance on me, “don’t scold, for 
you know I keep you supplied with a lot of fine 
grub. What would you do for victuals if it 
wern’t for me?” 


OF KENTUCKY 


55 


I retorted: ‘‘Your grub comes to me blood 
raw, and I have it to manipulate and cook, 
which more than pays for what I devour. ^ ’ 
“Well, sugar plum, ’spose we turn Darby 
and Joan this year; you take to the fields and 
1^11 go to the kitchen and do the cookin^T’ 

He usually sailed out of an argument of this 
nature on that much-abused Darby and Joan 
episode, the introduction of the sugar plum or 
some other sweet edible. I was never averse to 
being sugar-plummed, or candy-lumped, but I 
held out bravely and answered: 

“I fancy your ‘sugar plum’ would not exist 
long on such food as you’d get up; besides, 
your aversion to soap and water settles the mat- 
ter so far as I’m interested.” 

We both grew silent and traveled on. 
Kesuming my thoughts of Laura, I siaid to 
myself: “If she does marry Pete, I’ll leave off 
having another thought or care about her wel- 
fare. I’ll never again show her how to store 
away potatoes, bury cabbage, pickle beets or 
make beat biscuits. I never shall any more.” 
I’d learned to love her as though she’d been 
nigh of kin, and the thought of throwing herself 
away on that — well, I wouldn’t call names, it 
wasn’t good form; but the consolation I drew 
from being the repository of so much culinary 


56 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


knowledge and her not getting benefit there- 
from was a great satisfaction to me. 

We reached the Station as the train came in. 
Pete was there with the collar of his overcoat 
drawn up aronnd his ears, so as to almost con- 
ceal the ontlines of his face. My face gave an 
apprehensive thnmp. 

Now I was never a hand to meddle, generally 
think my thoughts and let matters take their 
own course, but my interest on this occasion 
led me boldly to Pete’s side. I caught him by 
the arm and asked anxiously: 

‘‘Where is Laura?” 

He turned to me with a surprised land startled 
look: “She is safe at Smart’s, I hope. I’m 
going back there in a moment and will look after 
her; she’ll be going home pretty soon.” 

“Before this train moves out?” I queried 
anxiously. 

“I should think not,” he replied, regarding 
me curiously. 

At this instant three city men emerged from 
the train, and Pete turned to them with “This 
way, gentlemen, if you please.’ 

I understood this later. The train moved out, 
so did we, my doubts und fears allayed for the 
moment, to return with unabated violence later. 
I had no thoughts of a particular nature to oc- 
cupy my mind after Alma and the children left 


OF KENTUCKY 


57 


me for a season. These children were not so 
nearly related to ns as to Alma, being her own 
sister’s offspring. They were Joe Benton and 
his small brother and sister. We loved them 
as sincerely as Alma did, yet she felt her claim 
on them superior to ours, and generally kept 
them with her. And for this reason I took Laura 
into my heart and perplexed and harrassed my 
brain over her; for it seems a woman is never 
content or happy until she finds something to 
worry over. 

Nothing further transpired that winter to 
disturb the equanimity of my existence, as far 
as solicitude for Laura went. She towed Pete 
through CsBsar and the poets and launched him 
into deeper waters. Jack Winton’s music les- 
sons ceased and seemingly he was no further 
advanced in music than in Laura’s affections, 
for she continually, and purposely avoided him 
and took to Pete wonderfully, who had turned 
his attention absolutely to soap and water and 
taken as an intimate acquaintance, the hair 
brush and shoe polish. His mother informed 
me he’d grown two inches taller, and she was 
forced to let out the hems in his Sunday pants, 
and yet there was an inch wanting, and she 
lowed” she’d have to hand them down to the 
next Grimes in size. 


CHAPTER VII. 


JACK^S GKAPPLE WITH THE GEEEH-EYED MONSTER. 

After March had whistled itself out of breath 
and fled o^er the hills and far away, when 
ploughing and planting time had asserted its 
sway, when the snow drops and butter cups had 
opened their eyes to the warm and genial sun- 
shine, and the lilacs were scenting the sweet 
April wind, just previous to the ushering in of 
May, one morning Jack rode up to our yard 
gate, with a dash to the right, then to the left, 
and a plunge forward, for he was astride an 
unbroken colt. He generally had a colt in hand, 
breaking it to harness or saddle, and I calcu- 
lated some day one of the colts would return the 
favor by breaking my friend ^s neck. He tied 
the colt and came to where I was transplanting 
vines by the porch pillars. Said he come to 
get some marrowfats to sow. 

^‘Why, Jack,’’ said I, ‘‘the time for sowing 
marrowfats has long gone by. I’ve quantities 
of other garden seeds I can give you.” 

“It appears,” he replied with a grave face^ 
“it appears I’m too late in most of my ven- 
tures.” 


OF KENTUCKY 


59 *^ 


^^Oh, well, now,’’ I returned, there’s no 
sense worrying over marrowfats; they’re here 
and gone before you get much enjoyment out 
of ’em. There’s enough other garden truck 
that stays by you till you’ve got your fill; that 
is the kind that rewards you for planting and 
cultivating. ’ ’ 

He looked out across the meadows in the di- 
rection of Laura’s and asked if I’d heard about 
her bees swarming. I had not heard it, and 
thought it yet early for swarming, but hoped 
she’d had the good fortune to save them, and 
presumed she had, as she relied so implicitly 
on Pete’s judgment. I supposed he was efficient 
in handling them. 

What I said must have touched a tender spot 
in the region near his heart, for he winced per- 
ceptibly, and the switch with which he’d been 
tapping the colt swished nervously in the air 
for a moment, then descending lashed the heads 
from three or four of my early sweet peas that 
I’d planted near the veranda, taking special 
pains to protect them at night from unfavorable 
winds. 

Jack Winton!” I cried, ‘‘you idiot, what are 
you thrashing the life out of my sweet peaiS- 
for?” 

He was startled by my vehemence into recov- 
ery of his wandering thoughts. 


^0 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘‘I beg your pardon/’ be said, sitting down 
on the porch step, ‘‘I didn’t know they were of 
any importance. ’ ’ 

Said I hastily: ‘‘They are of as much import- 
ance to me as Laura Dane’s good opinion of 
Jack Winton is to you.” 

Then I recalled instantly how long and ten- 
derly he’d loved her, and how sore his heart 
must be over her indifferent manner toward 
him, and to mitigate the pain I had possibly 
given, I added: 

“I think she has a great preference for you, 
unless you’ve acted in some way of late to for- 
feit her esteem. She’s said to me, time and 
jagain, you’d been such a kind and faithful 
friend to them, particularly in their poverty. 
She’s not wanting in gratitude, and no slack 
hand at returning kindness. She’s fair and 
square with friend and foe.” 

Then, not to inspire him with too much hope, 
I guardedly remarked: “It is a question in my 
mind which is the handsomer, Laura or Norton, 
^nd if matters ended according to prediction, 
that would be the handsomest couple wedding 
bells ever jingled over. She’s as fair as a June 
Tose, and — ” 


OF KENTUCKY 


61 


He cut me short with this — 

‘^Be she fairer than the day, 

Or the flowery meads in May; 

If she be not so for me, 

What care I how fair she be.’’ 

Then turning to me with a showing of con- 
tempt on his face and in his tone: ^Wou don’t 
<appear to be acquainted with all the facts in 
the case — that she’s off with the old love and 
on with the new.” 

< ‘ Why, how now ? What ’s happened ? ’ ’ 

^^Oh, nothing serious,” he replied, growing 
calmer. She’s transferred her atfections 
from Norton to — ” he paused. 

‘^Well, to whom?” I asked impatiently. 

^Ht is needless to ask, since there’s appar- 
ently only one other in the case. ’ ’ 

‘‘Say, now, you don’t mean Pete?” And I 
was prepared for, “I do mean Pete, and he’s so 
elated over her change of atfection that he con- 
fined to me, or attempted to, his convictions; 
said he’d known it since she undertook drilling 
him. I said to him, as I turned away, that I 
preferred not to be the recipient of his con- 
fidences.” 

While repeating this he looked grim and con- 
temptuous. ’Twas evident he was more jealous 
of Pete than he’d been of Norton. 


^62 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Surely, Jack,’’ I querried, ‘‘Pete didn’t 
have the assurance to tell you Laura was in 
love with 

“Not in so many words, but he implied as 
much. ’ ’ 

“Well, the dear me,” I remarked, “the Mr. 
Peter is growing to be a high stepper indeed. ’ ’ 

Then after a little reflection I observed: 
“Don’t you be down-hearted. Jack; if she’s 
fickle, she’ll likely change her mind again, and 
in the next rebound be prepared and catch on. 
You might when a leisure time presents itself 
assist a little with her bees and through that 
avenue reach her affections.” 

“Impossible!” he replied gloomily; then laid 
aside his trouble under pressure of more pleas- 
ant thoughts. 

“I made lan effort in that direction and I wish 
you’d seen me — I mean I’m glad you didn’t.” 

There was a humorous side to his nature, 
and he laughed outright at thought of the in- 
cident. He continued: “Early one morn in 
passing, that was before she gave me to under- 
stand she preferred my room to my company, 
I found her in the bee yard examining the 
ground near the hives. I asked her if any of her 
bees had strayed off, that I’d found a hand- 
ful or more poaching in my young orchard. 
■She replied, she’d taught them allegiance to 


OF KENTUCKY 


63 


herself, and, like chickens, they were home to 
roost each night. 

^^The ants were tronbling her bees, and she 
was tracing them to their burrows. Thinking 
to aid her in the search for the little maraud- 
ers, I knelt down near a hive, when the bees re- 
senting my invasion of their territory, began 
an onslaught. One caught me by the nose, an- 
other assayed to salute me with a stinging kiss 
on the lip ; yet another, to mark me as his own, 
punctured my right ear. I bounded to my feet 
with a yell, a slap, a knock, and tore round that 
bee yard like a yearling colt with a tin can at- 
tachment, going all the gaits. I dashed this way 
and flew that, all the while belaboring my head 
and face with my old hat. After a good long 
stampede around and about, the bees all this 
time in full chase, I jumped over the fence and 
plunged headforemost into the currant hedge, 
from which place Laura rescued me with laugh- 
ter, bearing in her hand a bottle of sweet oil 
with which she bathed my wounds. 

‘Oh, Mr. Winton!’ she exclaimed, ‘I observe 
youVe studied gymnastics to good purpose. 
Had a Dancing Dervish witnessed your antics 
I^m sure he would have turned green with envy.’ 
Again she laughed merrily. I threatened her 
with the courts if my injuries proved serious. 
She earnestly importuned me not to hasten pro- 


64 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


ceedings, observing, would make a too fa~ 
vorable impression on tbe witness stand as to 
injuries received, only wait till my nose and 
lips returned to normal conditions. ’ 

‘^And thus you observe, he said, reflectively, 
‘‘what headway I could make in that direction.’^ 
He went home more cheerful than he came, 
but he was gloomy, unhappy and sutfering men- 
tal distress. I wish it were not possible that 
one individual had it in his or her power to 
make another so unhappy. “Poor Jack,’^ I 
mused, “what perverse, what distressing forms 
atfairs sometimes assume. Plow hard to under- 
stand or believe that all is for the best, that in 
the dim future the pain we now suffer will cease 
to ache; the present gaping wounds cease to 
bleed; in part seared over and forgotten in the 
daily routine and pressure of compulsory activ- 
ity that many of us are forced to undergo. Yet, 
perhaps, this compelling activity is far better, 
forcing our minds into less disturbing channels. 
Ah, well, who knows, but the Heavenly Father.’’ 

Thus I reflected and for the moment sincerely 
wished she might marry Peter or Norton, one 
or the other, I wasn’t particular which right 
then, so that Jack might settle composedly down 
to farming and colt training and be happy as he 
once was. Now here he was in a continual state 
of turmoil and discomfort, his feelings con- 



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OF KENTUCKY 


65 


stantly torn and lacerated, splintered, so to 
speak, till his heart was nnfit for anything I 
conld think of except stove kindlings. As for 
me, in my sympathy for Jack and my interest 
in Laura, I had allowed my mind to become dis- 
torted and altogether unshapely as never be- 
fore. And, seemingly, all the while Jack and 
I were troubling, she was pursuing the even 
tenor of her way, calm and placid as September 
moonshine ; and I said to myself, forgetting my 
espousal of Norton’s cause, ‘‘If I had the dis- 
posal of her, I should put her into harness right 
along with Jack, and have Pete and Norton ap- 
prenticed to some good trade and get my mind 
relieved. I should rejoice when Alma’s time 
of teaching was over, when she and the kids 
should come home once more ; then I should not 
be continually chattering fo myself in such an 
idiotic way. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 


A BOUND UP AND A QUABKEL. 

Immediately after this I went over to see 
Bettie Grimes, Pete’s mother, wont for some 
geranium slips Pete had offered to give me. He 
eultivated many flowers of various hues, and 
usually of late you would And a flower pinned 
on the lapel of his coat. 

Bettie was a cheery, industrious little soul, 
with nine repetitions of Barney Grimes to darn, 
patch and switch. Barney lalso kept the Station 
hoarding house, and it was not to he wondered 
over that the five youngest scions were usually 
in a tangle-headed, mud-besmeared state. Won- 
derful children to make mud pies and cakes and 
run a hoiarding house. The two eldest girls 
were married. 

It was Bettie ’s invariable practice, when she 
had visitors, to have a round-up, for ablution- 
ary and other purposes, which the children were 
not inclined to accept with any show of avidity, 
so Bettie was forced to chase about mightily be- 
fore she could effect ia huddle; but when she 


OF KENTUCKY 


6T 


succeeded, it is safe to say the reckoning was 
not doled out sparingly. The chastisement on 
these occasions, administered by hand on that 
portion of the anatomy set apart for this espec- 
ial purpose, was severe, but quickly over with ; 
what was lost in quantity was made up in qual- 
ity, and she displayed so much tact and ingenu- 
ity in her round-ups, that I could but believe 
she’d missed her calling when she married Bar- 
ney instead of taking to the plains on a broncho. 
We spent the afternoon rather pleasantly, tak- 
ing into consideration the uproar, for the scrub- 
bing and grooming went forward unabatedly, 
with an occasional box on the ear for little Mike 
or Norah, or a twist to the right or turn to the 
left !of one or the other of the cherubim. Mike, 
the youngest, kept up la continual wail, that 
would have done creditable service at an Irish 
wake. 

Bettie acknowledged she’d been unusually 
busy of late. A lot of men, oil prospectors from 
the city, had been stopping with them, she said, 
and that Mr. Norton was among the number. 
He’d been to see Miss Laura. She was of opin- 
ion Miss Laura gave him some encouragement 
or he wouldn’t be such a frequent visitor there. 
She’d seen them out driving the evening before, 
though there was very little talk right now of a 
wedding. 


68 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


conclude,’’ I remarked, ^‘ker mind is 
entirely absorbed in caring for her bees.” 

dunno,” she replied, ^^her mind run out 
after her night school in just the same way, and 
she seemed determined to pull thru’ by makin’* 
herself useful ev’er way she can, and she’s al- 
together the darlin’est body I ever met. Pete- 
he fairly worships her, which is not surprisin’, 
since she’s winnowed all the laze ’ness out of 
him, and spurred him up so wonderful in book 
knowledge. Now he’s happy in the thought of 
makin’ a stir in the world.” 

She said, furthermore, she ‘Gowed he aimed 
to turn his mind to law, though he’d never said 
as much ; but he had two uncles across the ocean 
who were parlyment men.” She was perfectly 
satisfied in her mind that Pete would some day 
set the world ablaze. 

The subject of our conversation at this mo- 
ment came whistling in from Laura’s bee yard,, 
whistling Annie Laurie, too, with very telling 
effect, for we hushed our chat to listen, while the- 
children rushed to the door to meet him, little 
Mike putting off his grief under pressure of 
more interesting entertainment. Pete caught 
and tossed him high in the air; as he came down 
with a nervous shriek, somewhat alarmed, I 
rose from my chair. Seeing me, Pete came for- 
ward with a kind and polite greeting, and gave 


OF KENTUCKY 


6& 


such indications of being pleased to meet me, 
that I could but observe the improvement in his 
manner and general appearance, which im- 
pressed me favorably; and when we went for 
the flowers he was careful to show me all his 
new plants and explained what cultivation they 
required for perfect rearing of each, giving me 
a slip from this and that well-grown plant. 

‘‘How is Mrs. Dane getting onV^ 1 asked. 

“Improving right along.’’ 

“And Laura?” 

“The sweetest flower that blows.” 

He was fine at rounding up compliments. 

“Norton has been to see her again I hear.” 

“Yes,” he answered slowly, “that is one of 
his reasons for coming. ’ ’ 

“Are there other reasons?” 

“Do you not know?” looking at me in a ques- 
tioning way. 

“Can’t say that I do.” 

“He comes here with his associates to carry 
on that accursed drinking and gambling. I’ve 
tried to get father to forbid him the house, and 
some day he’ll regret not heeding me.” 

“Does Laura know this?” I asked. 

“I told her of it, and then took a special 
sneaking, underhand way of bringing her face 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


10 


to face with the facts. You remember, ^ ^ he con- 
tinued, ‘Hhe ni^ht of the Smart wedding seeing 
me conduct three men here from the Station T’’ 

^^Yes.’^ 

‘‘They were Norton’s associates. He asked 
me to look after some friends of his and see 
they were safely lodged at father’s. I knew 
their intention and talked with Mis's Laura 
about it, but she appeared unbelieving or in- 
ditferent then; but now — ” he hesitated a mo- 
ment, then, “Yes, they were gamblers and pro- 
ceeded to business immediately on arrival. They 
were in the office and I managed to leave one 
of the window shutters ajar so that I might 
open it without noise. Then I ran across to 
Miss Laura’s and told her mother wished to 
see her right away, which was quite true, for 
mother is never free of that desire. She’d been 
home a short while and was reciting to her 
mother the laughable incidents of the evening; 
but she rose right up and came with me without 
a question. When we got opposite the office 
window I drew her near it and noislessly pulled 
the shutter back. What she saw was four men 
seated at a table on which were bottles contain- 
ing wine, and Norton shuffling a pack of gamb- 
ling cards. She turned away and covered her 
face with her hands, saying not a word. I 
pushed the shutter to, took her hands from her 


OF KENTUCKY 


71 


face and led her back home. When we reached 
her door she looked at me not unkindly and re- 
marked, ‘I have known it always.’ I felt badly 
over what I had done, but she had appeared sa 
indifferent when I’d tell her what Norton was 
up to, I feared 'she didn’t credit the truth of 
what I said. Then another fear assailed me, I 
feared she might misinterpret my motive in 
telling her. Poor Norton, he’s going to the 
devil as rapidly as time can carry him, with no 
restraining hand but Laura’s. His mother and 
sister are no check on him, for he learned to 
drink and play cards around his own fireside. 
Progressive euchre is what worked his ruin; 
I’ve heard all about it.” 

My mind reverted to what he’d said just 
previous to his last remark, and I returned to 
that. 

^^What was your motive, Pete in telling 
her!” 

‘Won wouldn’t have had me stand tamely by 
and 'see her imperil her future happiness by 
marrying such a man as Norton, would you?” 

^^True,” I replied, should have had my 
anxieties, yet at the same time I should have 
felt as though I were meddling.” 

‘‘Indeed, I felt just so,” he returned, “till 
later seeing my embarrassment, she set my mind 


72 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


at rest by telling me she knew I meant in all 
kindness what I did. However, after all my 
trouble, I found I was on the wrong trail, and 
he dug vigorously after a hyacinth bulb with 
his knife. 

^‘You don’t mean she’s broken with him?” I 
asked more and more interested. 

‘^Oh, no,” he replied, ^^and she never will. 
It is evident she is more apprehensive of danger 
to him than herself. He is growing more reck- 
less daily, and now that his father has restricted 
him in finances, she fears trouble for him. 

‘‘Well,” I remarked dryly, “it appears to 
me, Peter, you are taking uncommon interest 
in Laura’s affairs.” 

“Why should I not?” he questioned. “Only 
think what she has done for me. You know 
what a good-for-nothing I was before she took 
charge of me. Why,” said he, “the timber 
father has consumed to turn me to account 
would have been a fortune to some man a hun- 
dred years hence. I was adrift, without com- 
pass or chart, lost, miserable, knowing not which 
course to pursue. She found me, directed me 
into calm blue waters, and now I know precise- 
ly what I mean my future shall be. ’ ’ 

“And,” I replied, “you aim to make a worthy 
object of yourself for her sweet sake. Do you 


OF KENTUCKY 


73 


think you can attain that standard of excellence 
that will he well pleasing in her eye ! ’ ’ 

He shot a sharp glance at me, pondered a mo- 
ment, then laughed a good-natured laugh, and 
replied, as he gouged up a carnation root and 
handed it to me : 

mean to recompense her for what she has 
done for me; I know of a way I can do that, 
Ood bless her. ’ ’ 

^‘Oh, yes, I understand,^’ said I, ^ instead of 
bee culture you will turn your mind to heart 
culture. ’ ’ 

^‘Just so,” he answered, ^‘and since the cul- 
tivation is so very far advanced, my task will 
be an easy one.” 

He invested his insinuation with so much im- 
portance and impudence, which implied I 
couldn’t help but understand that he was the 
favored suitor, he put such particular stress 
on certain words, and then looks go a long way 
in making convictions. 

‘‘Well, to be brief about it,” I returned, 
she’s not so fastidious about being pleased, in 
certain directions, as I inferred she’d be.” 

“Indeed you mistake,” he replied, “for it 
takes the best fellow in all the world to come 
up to her ideal.” 


74 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


“And I dare say you think you are that hind 
of a fellow/^ I punotnated. 

He looked me directly in the eye and an- 
swered, slowly, seriously: “A fellow can make 
anything of himself he wishes, he it vilest or 
best. You don’t deserve much credit for pene- 
tration or discernment.” 

I didn’t accept that last as a compliment to 
the acuteness of my perception, land I became 
just a little nettled and replied in no good 
terms; “See here, Pete, I fear your heart is 
overreaching your heels in a matter of weight; 
if it expands a mite more you’ll not be able to 
proceed on life’s highway.” 

“To be more brief, I’ve got the big-head 
he questioned. 

“I didn’t say it.” 

“You implied it.” 

“Well, I’m fixed and unshaken in my mind 
that Laura is easily pleased in ” I hesitated. 

“In what?” looking at my disturbed counte- 
nance. “ Well, I’ll swing, if I don’t believe we 
are about to quarrel ; suppose we part while we 
are friends, but do this : Adorn your head with 
a studying cap instead of a night cap when you 
retire, and see if you cannot reach some 
pleasanter conclusion.” Off he started at a 


OF KENTUCKY 


Y5* 


brisk stride. ‘‘Oh river,’’ he called back, wav- 
ing his hand. 

Now to my certain knowledge there was not 
a river nearer than five miles of us, so I con- 
cluded he’d seek Laura’s icompanionship in- 
stead of walking five miles in search of a river. 

I picked up my plants and returned home, too 
ill-mannered to leave my thanks with his- 
mother. 


CHAPTEE IX. 


AMEKICA AND lEELAND IN COMBAT. 

I found sufficient material for my mind to op- 
erate upon when I reached home, or pretty soon 
thereafter, so Pete’s injunction about the adorn- 
ment of the head was cast aside under pressure 
of more strenuous proceedings. 

I found old man Spindle perched high up on 
the gate post watching Dennis Grimes and 
Kenner Dane playing marbles out in the road. 
I had hardly noticed Dennis’ absence from the 
round-up ; one or more missing from a flock of 
th!at size is hardly perceptible. 

I sat m'e down on the stiles near Old Man, 
thinking to have a nice conjugal chat about our 
own home affairs. He informed me he’d heard 
of a nice girl across in the ‘‘sang diggin’s,” as 
’twas called, w'hom he could employ to help me 
when harvest time came, which was then not 
far distant. I was truly pleased at this infor- 
mation, and blessed Old Man down in the inner- 
most recess of my heart for his thoughtfulness 
of my comfort and needs. Drawing nearer him, 
1 laid my arm caressingly about his shoulders. 


OF KENTUCKY 


TT 


He asked if I had observed how Dennis was. 
rigged out. Well, sure enough, his style of at- 
tire was a little forced, I discovered. 

It was Kenner’s birthday, with a birthday 
dinner accompaniment, and to show due respect 
to the occasion of an invitation to dine out, Den- 
nis had donned a long-laid-aside long-tailed old 
white linen duster of Pete’s, which struck him 
somewhere in the neighborhood of the hocks, 
bare-footed, a clean shirt on, with a strip of red 
calico, in lieu of a necktie, adorning his collar. 
The shirt was inside out, and the necktie dang- 
ling awry. Kenner was also attired in his Sun- 
days. 

Well, there they were, seemingly as happy 
and loving as lambs, with no thought of a rup- 
ture coming. They were great friends, with 
one year’s difference in age; Dennis claimed 
that, but yielded to Kenner in all things. 

Dennis was a stout, sturdy little lad, kind to 
a fault, with a slight propensity for fighting, 
handed down by his ancestry from away back, 
along with other attributes, but no one ever 
anticipated a pugilistic encounter between him 
and Kenner. 

Old Man and I chatted on harmoniously con- 
cerning family affairs and particularly about 
the girl he was to hire for my benefit. Present- 


78 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


iy I heard Dennis say: ^^Hnrry np wid de ring, 
Kinny; I got’r go home and drive up de cows.’’ 

‘^Wait a little minit, Denny, and I’ll have’r 
all right.” Yet he knelt there in the dust and 
ro/arked off that ring a half dozen times, each 
time erasing it, not being satisfied as to the 
tjorrect look of it. Finally Dennis, in his impa- 
tience, stepped behind Kenner and with his foot 
set him over on his nose in the dust. And real- 
ly I don’t believe a whole nest full of hornets 
aflame wi'th anger, on the war path, could have 
emitted more venom than that little Kenner 
Dane displayed. He rose kicking. His right 
foot flew cut, hot, fast, furious and repeatedly. 
Dennis took it calmly at first, with a good-na- 
tured grin, but finally began dodging this way 
and that to avoid his assailant, who seemed mo- 
mentarily to grow more angry. Finally in the 
vortex of excitement the heel of Kenner’s shoe 
caught in a pocket of the old duster and held 
firmly. As Dennis moved here and there, Ken- 
ner was compelled to hop round after him on 
one foot, for the shoe heel determinedly refused 
to relinquish its hold. With a last and reso- 
lute effort at disentanglement, Kenner gave a 
wrench that started a rent in the pocket, and be- 
fore you could wink or think, he snatched that 
duster tail out by the roots. 


OF KENTUCKY 


n 


‘^Land sakes, go at ’em and stay the racket,” 
I commanded the old man. 

‘‘Let ’em fight it ont; give ’em a chance to 
prove who is who,” said he, grinning. 

“No, I don’t, neither,” said I, and I rose 
qnickly and started for the battleground, but 
the old man caught me by the left arm and with 
a quick movement, he landed me back on the 
stile. 

“You old barbarian!” I exclaimed, and turn- 
ing round I gave him a shove that sent him spin- 
ning from his high perch into the yard. As he 
tumbled over I continued: “I can give you all 
the fight you want, but nothing to what you 
need.” He scrambled quickly to his feet grin- 
ning, though that last move was an unlooked- 
for incident. 

I hastened to the seat of action in time to save 
slaughter. Both boys were down in the dust, 
Kenner scratching and clawing as best he could, 
for Dennis had him hugged up in a close em- 
brace to prevent further blows. He relaxed his 
hold, however, as I advanced, and by a quick, 
dextrous movement, Kenner whirled over and 
had him by the hair with one hand, while with 
the other he meant to do a little pounding, but 
I saved him the pleasure. 

“Go it, Ameril^y !” squalled the old man from 
his high perch to which he’d returned. “I 


80 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


knowed Ameriky would come out with colors 
floutin ’ ; Haw ! haw ! ^ ’ 

My fingers itched to get at him again, but I 
was occupied with more interesting matter. As 
I lifted Kenner to his feet I asked severely, 
Kenner, who learned you to fight 

^‘Nobody, I knowed it,’’ he screamed, as he 
gave vent to the most tremendous howl I 
thought I ever heard. I was fearful his mother 
would hear him away over on the other side 
of the railroad track, so I clamped my hand 
over his mouth and lifting him in my arms, bore 
him to the back porch, where I proceeded to 
wash the dust from his face. 

Dennis followed with a much-'scratched coun- 
tenance and a red eye, the duster tail fetching 
up the rear, for it clung by u thread or two on 
each side in filial atfection to the parent trunk 
from which it had been ruthlessly severed. 

‘Ms you hurt, Kinny?” he asked in a sorrow- 
ful tone while the big tears tumbled out from 
his eyes, forming a small cascade. 

“Yes, and I am hurt, and you hurt me, too, 
and I’ll tell Pete and Laura, too,” he sobbed. 

“I didn’t go for to hurt, you Kinny; don’t 
tell.” 

“Yes I will, too, and you’re meaner ’n a 
dog. ’ ’ 



''Dennis in his impatience stepped behind Kenner 
and mth his foot set him over on his nose” — Page 78 


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OF KENTUCKY 


81 


^‘You’re meaner ’n two dogs if yon tells on 
me, ’cause you hurt me the most and tored 
Pete’s duster, and — ^^and — ^don’t tell, Kinny.” 

‘‘Yes I will, too, and tell your pap you went 
in the pond swimm)in’, too.” 

“No, don’t tell, don’t tell, Kinny, ’cause I 
didn’t swim, I waded in no deeper than me 
knees and down. ’ ’ 

Says Kenner irate: “Anybody can see you 
put on your shirt upside in when you come out 
the pond.” 

Dennis turned the red eye and the blue eye 
down on the bosom of the “upside in” gar- 
ment, and I wondered how he would manage 
suoh convincing evidence. Without hesitation 
he explained: “Yes, I ’member I got me shirt 
turned when we was dimin’ ober de bob-wire 
fence, and ef ye won’t tell I bumped yer nose 
nor nuthin’. I’ll gib yer de big blue mobble what 
Mr. Norton gib me.” 

He went down into his pocket and brought to 
light the big blue “mobble,” a sure beauty. He 
looked longingly, lovingly at it, then protfered 
it to Kenner, who put out quickly a hand to 
grasp it. 

“Now, Kinney, ye won’t tell nuthin’, will 
ye?” 

“No I won’t,” says Kenner, beginning to 
smile. “No, I won’t tell nuthin’ ’tall.” 


82 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


But no sooner had Kenner got the blue treas- 
ure in his possession, than Dennis raised an 
agonizing howl that far outdid Kenner’s yell 
in volume, pitch and excess. The bawl of a six 
month’s weaning calf was nothing in compari- 
son. The surrender of the blue marble was 
more than human endurance could calmly un- 
dergo. 

Old Man came bolting round the corner of 
the house — ^^Hi! Hi! ain’t it done with yet?” 

‘^No,” said I, ‘‘but you could have squshed 
it in the outset if you’d had a mind to.” 

“Come, come, Dennis,” he said persuiasively, 
“you’ll alarm the natives, wake snakes and 
skeer the old Nick. ’ ’ 

“He’s got my mobble!” bawled Dennis. 

“Who, the old Nick?” questioned Old Man. 
Whereupon Kenner, thinking it a personal al- 
lusion, set up a fresh bout of yelps, and the 
welkin rang again and again in response. 

“The good Lord have mercy on us and de- 
liver US, if they are the means of bringing about 
an earthquake,” was my ardent prayer, which 
was answered on the moment, for looking up I 
saw Laura skimming across the meadow like a 
swallow on the wing, coming in our direction. 
She bounded over the stiles and in a moment 
was with us. 


OF KENTUCKY 


83 


Old Man didn’t wait for questions, but pro- 
ceeded with: ^^The boys have had a reg’lar 
festive time of it — sl Sunday-school picnic and 
60 on.” 

‘Ms either hurt?” she asked quietly, looking 
questioningiy from one to the other. 

Kenner bore no marks of the conflict, but the 
dilapidated condition of Dennis’ face and the 
6 orry plight of the old duster spoke volumes. 

She went to him and putting her arms about 
his little body she draw him kindly and lovingly 
to her side. 

“How did it happen, Dennis? Tell me all 
about it,” she said soothingly. The mutiny was 
quelled when she came to the scene, but the sob- 
bing and snuffling was unabated. 

“I dru-uth-er be flogged ’an to giv-ive up my 
blue mob-ble, wudn’t you-u. Miss Laura?” 

“That depends, but you tell me how it hap- 
pened, Denny,” and drawing a handkerchief 
from her neat white apron pocket, she wiped 
the dust and tear stains from his face and kissed 
him. This seemed only to augment his grief, 
but she kept on soothing and encouraging, till 
she got the truth from him. 

We each, Old Man and I, essayed to explain, 
but she didn’t heed us, went quietly on talking 
to Dennis, as though it were a small matter of 


84 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


every-day occurrence, and they were the only 
two interested. 

Kenner stood listening soberly to the talk,> 
for really he had no grievance. 

Said Dennis: ‘‘Me and Kinny was playin^ 
mobbles and he wouldnT ring up, ’cause I had 
to go fur de cows, and I tipped him ober in de 
road, but he didn’t have fur to go, ’cause he was 
on his squatters, and I didn’t go for to hu’t 
’im, ’n’ he kicked me ’nd scratched ’n’ tore 
Pete’s duster, ’n’ — ” 

“Now you’ve gone an’ tole yourse’f,” says 
Kenner. “An’ he went in the pon’, too, an’ — 
an’ — ” 

“Now you gimme my mobble, ’cause you 
promised not to tell de pon’ bizness, you ban’ 
’er right up.” 

I feared another outbreak, but it didn’t ma~ 
terialize, for Laura settled it in this wise, speak- 
ing to Kenner: 

“However wrong, dear, Dennis’ act of diso- 
bedience may have been, you forfeited your 
claim on the marble when you broke your prom- 
ise to him, and you must return it.” 

Kenner began Whimpering, as he passed the 
marble over to Dennis. 

“If your heart is so set on owning a blue 
marble, I will speak to Mr. Norton about it^ 


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and I^m sure lie’ll find one for you. Now as to 
the duster, if Dennis will promise me — ” she 
was drawing the duster off — ^‘promise me not 
to ever, ever go in the pond again unless Pete 
is with him, I will carry it home with me and 
mend every rent in it, and ’twill be good as new. 
What say you, Dennis?” 

‘‘Miss Laura, I’ll promise you that on my 
word an’ nonner, I never will. Amen.” 

She took the old duster and holding it up to 
view said it looked like the tail end of a tornado, 
and her voice floated out in a merry peal of 
laughter. Old Man laughed uproariously, join- 
ing in the effort to bring about a reconciliation 
between the boys. 

‘ ‘ Denny, you and Kinny behold this old buz- 
zard with his tail feathers gone.” She flirted 
and flopped the old duster up and down in the 
evening breeze again and again. 

Both boys joined the merriment. 

“Look, Denny! Look!” exclaimed Kenner. 

“I see,” said Dennis, chuckling, “it beats 
the skars and skripes in a blowout. Watch ’er ! 
Watch ’er, Kinny.” 

“Hooraw for the old duster!” bawled Old 
Man; “Miss Laura has turned it into a truce 
flag.” 

“Oh, but I got ter go for dem ol’ cows,” s’aid 
Dennis, lugubriously. “Come on, Kinny, w’ll 


86 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


fin’ ’em at de bars.” Otf be trotted, Kenner 
following. 

^^Did you ever?” I remarked, turning to 
Laura after tbe boys were out of sight. She 
and Old Man were yet laughing over the duster. 

‘^Ever what?” she asked. 

‘^W’y them boys; I never dreamed of them 
fighting.” 

i^They didn’t fight. True, Dennis pushed 
Kenner over, but with no intention of hurting 
him, I’m sure.” 

told her so, and — ” attempted Old man, 
but I interrupted with, ^ ^No you didn’t neither. ’ ^ 

‘‘Well, I aimed to if you’d given me the 
chance. Miss Laura, I mean to sue for a di- 
vorce on the grounds of salt and batter; she 
knocked me down and then scudded away be- 
fore I’d had time to wring her nose.” 

“Don’t heed what he says, Laura,” I re- 
marked solemnly, “for he’s a poor, weak-mind- 
ed old critter, and sometimes hardly knows 
whether he’s on his head or his heels.” 

“I do know that half an hour ago, with your 
help, I turned a summersault from the gatepost 
and landed on my head.” 

I joined in the laugh this time, though re- 
luctantly. 


OF KENTUCKY 


8T 


‘‘The affair seems to have taken a pleasant 
turn all round, so I will hie myself home. Come 
soon,’’ and kissing me adien, Lanra fled home- 
ward across the meadow, hnt ere she reached 
the furtherest stile I saw Pete join her and they 
walked onward in the gloaming. I turned and 
walked into the house, thinking ‘ ‘ this might ap- 
propriately be called children’s day.” But the 
contretemps (country tramps. Old Man calls 
it) did not take place till the following summer. 


CHAPTEE X. 


TINY MIGGLES. 

Old Man went over to the ‘^diggins/’ found 
the girl and brought her in. A capable, nice 
girl I found her, named Tiny Higgles, though 
I was fully persuaded in my mind it should have 
been Tiny Giggles, for she was the gigglingest 
piece of human flesh it was ever my lot to fall 
in with. 

I am a great ladmirer of good nature, and 
all that, but she so far outdid good nature that 
I was oftentimes compelled to repress her over- 
flow of good humor by showing my disapproval, 
or by quoting to her what the preacher says 
about the ‘‘cracking of thorns under a pot.’’ 
No matter what happened, whether of a serious 
nature or not, she felt it her bounden duty to 
giggle, and the most thorough chatterbox I had 
ever met with. When she was not giggling she 
was pelting my weary ears with chatter about 
folks over in the “diggins,” whom I neither 
knew or cared to know, but she flinally got my 
interest excited over one Jim Shanks. 


OF KENTUCKY 


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Tiny was a lone little waif, homeless, with 
no relative except a decrepit old uncle; a good 
pai^t of her life had been spent with the Shanks 
family, and the first two weeks of her stay with 
me, there was not an hour through the day she 
did not contrive to introduce Jim Shanks into 
our conversation, so I reached the conclusion 
that Jim Shanks was master fiddler, could split 
more rails, hop higher and run farther without 
being pushed for wind than any other fellow in 
the ‘‘diggins,’’ and occupied for the time being, 
at least, the highest in Tiny’s affections. 

She was a bright, cheerful, neat little girl of 
sixteen, and I presumed from her discourse, 
she’d made a lasting impression on Jim’s heart, 
and found my conjecture was correct later on. 

She was quite capable of receiving instruc- 
tion, and I found it no trouble to drill her in 
household matters ; she took right hold and was 
trustworthy. 

Just before Tiny came, Old Man hired Skip- 
worth Sparks to assist with the farm work. 
Not for the reason that Skip was an extra farm 
hand, but simply because we could not do better. 
Skip’s mind didn’t reach out much in the direc- 
tion of work, but was filled with tom-foolery 
and far-fetched notions, thought he was born 
to fill a higher sphere than the one fate, or cir- 
cumstances, had thrust on him; full of vain, 


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’MONGST THE HILLS 


egotistical ideas, very aspiring, though there 
was no particular harm in the last-named arti- 
cle, if he had not allowed his aspirations to scare 
otf what little good sense he did possess. And 
he felt as distinguished over harboring these 
high-flung ideas as if he^d already reached the 
top rung of the ladder on which he was climb- 
ing to whatever it was he was aiming at. 

He read many books, especially those beyond 
his grasp, and was well assured that in an edu- 
cational point of view, his tow-head held more 
knowledge than any other around Grimes’ Sta- 
tion. 

I could not be brought to see any superiority^ 
but believed him ahead of most fellows in trif- 
lingness. 

To be sure, his Sunday clothes were fash- 
ionable and fitted his person extremiely well, 
and he wore high-colored neckties, which shed 
a kind of halo, or nimbus, about his naturally 
swart features, but, dear me! fine clothes count 
for nothing if the heart is not right, and Skip ’s 
heart was awry. He had a meager, unfinished 
looking little nose, too, that showed a settled 
determination to climb up at the point, and 
carry the upper lip with it; for this reason it 
cost him considerable effort to keep his mouth 
shut. On that same upper lip, by close inspec- 
tion, could be found a pale, poverty-struck mus- 


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91 


taclie that required much time and devotion to 
cultivate, and though there was a striking, nigh- 
of-kin look between his tow head and that mus- 
tache, he was not pleased that nature had not 
given it a darker tint, and to frustrate nature’s 
designs, he bought a box of mustache paint and 
used it, which gave him a very stagey look.. 
However, after a few times’ use his upper lip 
began swelling and became inflamed; his mouth 
took on a dreadful look, so out of proportion. 
I told him I dare be bound the paint was rank 
poison, and I thought it judicious he should 
make his will at once, and be sure he was ready 
to meet death at a moment’s notice. He scared 
off from the paint, grew humble and meek, till 
his lip shrank to normal proportion, then fool- 
ish ideas got him again. 

Tiny was dazed, especially by his appear- 
ance when he’d rig up and attach himself to a 
heavy watch chain, that at every move would 
send forth a clanging chime of music. 

One Sabbath morn, as we were preparing for 
church, I heard him ask if she had any objec- 
tions to him as an escort. She was all of a flut- 
ter, and went off into a series of giggles that 
threatened to be the last of her; but she pulled 
safely through and answered, ‘^Yes;’’ then she 
giggled again and said ^‘No,” but finally set- 


^2 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


tied down on which seemed satisfactory 

to both. 

She was very much pleased over his atten- 
tions, and the following week I found her often 
in a contemplative mood, before the looking 
glass, much oftener than was necessary to the 
perfect carrying out of her household duties. 
There was also a marked neglect in the mention 
of Jim Shanks. 

She and Skip got on quite social terms, and 
after the day’s labor was ended, they sat on the 
front porch and held friendly intercourse. His 
talk bordered on the political, and she con- 
fessed to having a great fondness for ‘ ^ Twinkle, 
twinkle, little star,” ^‘The boy stood on the 
burning deck,” and all such. He informed her 
that was all silly stuff, that she should read 
more advanced literature, and referred her to 
Hyron, Dickens and Shakespeare. 

‘‘Bryunt, Diggins and Shakeskeer,” she re- 
peated; ‘H’ll read ’em.” 

He continued, telling her there was nothing 
like poetry — ^‘it was so elevatin’ to the mind, 
and soul-liftin’ to the soul, and to him was the 
meat and bread of existence.” 

After reflecting for a moment she replied: 
know I’d get awful hongry ef there weren’t 
nuthin’ to eat but poetry.” 


OF KENTUCKY 


9a 


That was because she was not of a poetical 
turn of mind, be argued, casting a scornful 
glance in her direction, of which she was not 
observant. 

He dwelt lengthily upon the advantages to 
be derived from having the gift of poetry bom 
within one. His high-flown language seemed 
to strike her with wonder and admiration, and 
she asked innocently: ^‘Skip, have you got 
the gift of poTry in you, and can you make it 
fitten to reeadU’ 

In a very bombastic tone he replied: 
should think I have, and I mean to write a book 
full of it and set it afloat.’’ 

Tiny reflected again, then giggled and asked 
‘‘how long he s ’posed ’twould float?” 

He grew angry at her reflection, and ’twas 
three evenings before she cajoled him into a 
pleasant humor. 

She was an uncommonly pliable little creat- 
ure, and strove to please, and I found her after 
this often poring over a book. Frequently, too, 
she was scribbling with pen and pencil. 

However, one Sunday, there came a circum- 
stance that marred the harmony of their pleas- 
ant intercourse, and had a wet-blanlvet effect on 
Skip’s ardor. That circumstance was Jim 
Shanks. Jim was a big, awkward, uncouth- 


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’MONGST THE HILLS 


looking youngster, unaccustomed to lingering 
in the society of the elite, consequently his man- 
ner was very striking. He had a lot of trouble 
with his feet and hands, and seemed as if he’d 
been happy but for these unruly appendages, 
that wouldn’t remain a moment where he’d 
place them. His clothes fell short of the most 
approved style. His coat had passed the prime 
of life, his pants away yonder too short; in fact, 
he looked as though some one had caught him 
by the heels and jerked him about three inches 
too far through those pantaloons; but I con- 
cluded instantly that he was an encouraging 
young man, and had prolonged the life of that 
outfit by preserving it for Sunday’s use alone. 
He had a frank, honest eye, that bespoke a 
trustworthy nature, and I found later in the 
day, after he’d got composed, that he had fine 
common sense, and it’s the common, good, 
every-day-sense people, after all, who are the 
backbone of the world, clothes or no clothes. 

When Jim came. Skip, I found, was more in- 
terested that I imagined, for he grew jealous 
and took refuge in hurt feeling and the top of 
the woodshed, where he remained all day, whit- 
tling and chewing the cud of bitter refiection, 
along with his tobacco. A terrible fellow to 
chew and whittle, I usually kept a few splints 
we used for kindlings, lying promiscuously 


OF KENTUCKY 


95 


around in order to save the window sills, door 
facings and porch railing from that ruthless 
knife of his. 

When Jim left he seemed not to be in the 
most blissful state of mind, hut returned the 
following week, his plea being to inform Tiny 
her Uncle Gid was ailing. Ever after this he 
made Uncle Gid’s health an excuse for his vis- 
its. Uncle Gid Higgles was all the known rela- 
tion Tiny had; her father and mother having 
died when she was but a slip of a babe, and 
she’d been left on the cold charity of the world. 
Xnowing this, I often wondered over her light- 
hearted manner, for she’d had a tough fight in 
her childhood — shuffled and flung from hand to 
hand as she was, till Uncle Gid returned from 
no one knew whence,, where he had been wan- 
dering for many years, came back to find kith 
and kin all dead, or gone, save poor little Tiny. 
He gave her to Jim Shanks ’ mother, took up his 
abode near by, and when Tiny got old enough, 
she kept his house tidied up and his clothes 
neat; but he would not allow her to live with 
him. Sometimes he’d lock up his cabin and 
go away for six months, then return and take 
Tip his lonely life again. 

When Jim made his second visit. Skip had 
another bout of the sulks. He was whimsical 
as a spoiled child, anyway, and had just suf- 


96 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


ficiently recovered from the former visit to lend 
Tiny a photograph he had made as soon as the 
old man paid him his first month’s wages. He 
carried that photo around in his pocket for one 
solid month, and I’d seen him sneak it out at 
times and gaze rapturously upon it, till I know 
all the lineaments must have been firmly fixed 
in his mind’s eye, and, considering the adora- 
tion he had for it, ’twas surprising he could part 
from it an hour. 

One morning I was searching for a darning 
needle and came across this same picture and 
a poetic rhapsody, which I concluded was the 
outcome of the scribbling with which I had seen 
Tiny occupied, in the endeavor to emulate Skip, 
I concluded. It ran thus, in this style: 

^ ‘lines on to s. s. 

The moon is shining very bright 
The stars is twinklin’ too 
While I set here and gaiz on them 
And think dear Skip ov you 

“i used to thought i love Jim Shanks 
And fum him c’uldn’t part 
But sence I come acrost of you 
lie have slid clean out’n my hart. 


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97 


dreams ov you both nite an’ day 
You is foremost in my thorts 
An’ when you fum my presence gose 
i feel all out’n sorts 

^‘Your voice is like the turkle doves 
That warbles in the bowers 
Or like the bizzy bumble bee 
That bumbles in the flowers 

^^Your hair’s like the thissle down 
that floats upon the air 
Your eyes is like two beauty brights 
Your nose is small and spar 

^^You is the star that gydes me out 
On life’s tempeschus sea, 

You is the unly one i loves 
Oh Skip, my Skip, Skip-ee.” 

I was dumb-struck when I ran upon these 
lines, and had to peruse them twice or thrice 
before I could make up my mind what to think 
first. It was poetry, at least in length, breadth 
and thickness. I was fully persuaded in my 
mind that Skip couldn’t have hit it off nicer. 
It was smooth and well flowing, and you might 
have set it to a common metre tune and ’twould 
have fitted, but was it truth? had she really 


98 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


let Jim slide from her heart 1 When I reflected 
over it, I must confess she fell about five feet 
in my estimation, for I felt Skip was unworthy 
of such affection as she seemed prone to lavish 
on him, and I made up my mind at once I would 
sanction no such arrangement under my roof. 
If Jim was not habited in store clothes, he was 
honest and true. All that forenoon I felt cross 
over the matter. I spoke harsh to Tiny, and 
put her on double duty, and let the love I had 
nurtured in my heart for her grow hard and pit- 
iless. I began wondering if I could not do the 
work myself and return her to the bosom of the 
‘‘diggins.’’ I locked up all the blank paper, 
pens and pencils and put them under lock and 
key, thinking if she was sufficiently silly to en- 
tertain such sentiments she should not make a 
record of them. 


CHAPTER XI. 


NAN" HOLLIS. 

I was yet allowing my mind to be vexed over 
this when Nan Hollis, Judge Hollis’ daughter 

from L , burst in upon my meditations 

like a small tornado. She set to flight my in- 
tentions concerning Tiny, for when Nan Hollis 
put in an appearance, it meant a realization of 
something undreamed of. Three years before 
this, just when she had turned into her teens, 
her father and mother had sent her down to 
board with us while they were from home, and 
the charge of her was no small responsibility, 
for she was the the flightiest, tom-downest cre- 
ature on topside of dirt, and kept my mind in 
a tempest the entire six weeks she remained 
with us — climbing trees, tearing her dresses, rid- 
ing the young horses and so on. One day when 
the hands were hauling the hay in from the 
fields, she insisted till Old Man finally yielded 
in allowing her to drive into the bam with one 
load from the meadows, when she got one load 
in she hung on to the team of mules till the 
whole crop was housed. There was not a hen’s 


100 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


nest in the hay-loft she did not nose up, making” 
a daily round of collecting eggs. She did the 
churning also, and once a week she jumped intO' 
the cart behind old sorrel and drove round ta 
the grocery with the butter and eggs, returning 
with the proceeds of her negotiations. She 
went at everything with a vim, whether work 
or play. One day an idea caught her to take the 
twins and little Patsy, their colored nurse, and 
all have a pleasure excursion across the horse 
pond in the big wash-tub. The twins were five 
years old, Patsy eight. She did not acquaint me 
with her intentions, but rolled the tub to the 
edge of the water and stowed the children there- 
in. She was to launch her boat with a pole and 
jump in before they got very far from land She 
launched but made a miscount as to distance,, 
sprang out and landed kerchug, into about twe 
or three feet of water. Clutching at the tub 
when she alighted, she whirled it bottom side up 
and flopped the children, bag and baggage, all 
out into the pond. 

I was engaged about dinner when the alarm 
was raised, but rushed out, expecting some dire- 
ful calamity had befallen some one. Getting 
nearer, I saw they were all alive and kicking. 
Nan had Curtis and Connie in her arms pulling 
for the shore, Patsy clinging to her, while old 
Shag, Joe Benton’s Newfoundland, was plash- 


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ing round in the water. All three of the small 
children were screaming their utmost. The 
farm hands from all quarters rushed to the res- 
cue, the old man and Joe Benton leading, the 
darkies — Uncle Tobe, his wife Croney, and their 
hoys, Tim and Jupe, following. 

When I reached the spot. Nan had landed her 
cargo and Aunt Crony was striving to quiet 
Connie’s wailing. 

^‘Dar, dar, now, hush now, mammy won’t let 
nuffin’ hurt de baby no mo’; mammy’s honey 
candy baby.” 

Curtis ran to me whimpering. He could work 
more misery and discomfort into his whimpers 
than any youngster I had ever dealt with. 

^‘Oh, we’s grounded! We’s grounded!” he 
cried. ^Ale an’ Connie bof! Poor ’ittle chil- 
luns! I’se mos’ dead, take me home, aunty, 
and gim’e some sugar.” Sobbing, he nestled 
his wet curls against my bosom. Patsy was 
waving her arms wildly in the air and dancing 
about Aunt Crony, howling with fright: 
didn’t do it, it wasn’t me! Yow! yow! I tole 
Miss Nan not to go in dar, we’d upsot, yow! 
yow! yow! I knowed it better as anybody. I 
done try it and gran ’pap have to fish me out. 
Yup! yup!” 

Says Uncle Tobe, in tones not to be misunder- 
stood: ''Patsy, you shot up dat yellin’, you big 


102 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


mouf nigger you; you’s ’nuf to skar de debit 
er bowlin’; fust thing you knows you’s gwinter 
wish mighty hard you’s somewhars else. You 
hear me, Pats Hartly? You better shot up dat 
yellin’ ’fore I chops yer head off wid dis hera 
hoe. ’ ’ He made at her with his hoe raised. 

^‘I’se gwinter hush — ^now ise done — done hush 
up — ^yup — ^pup — .” She shied behind Nan, wha 
had rushed between them screaming: ‘‘‘Ohl 
Uncle Tobe, don’t chop her to pieces! I was 
to blame; I thought we’d have a nice ride and 
land safely on — ” 

‘^The bottom of the pond,” laughed Joe Ben- 
ton, and in his glee he fell down and rolled over.. 

Nan’s eyes flashed; she looked to see if the 
children were safe, made a dash at Joe, as best 
she could for her dangling wet raiment, clinched 
one hand in his hair, with the other she pounded 
him soft. Joe accepted the blows with many 
‘^ohs” and ‘^ouches,” finally getting away, the 
worse for the encounter. I got the excursion- 
ists to the house and clothed in dry apparel with, 
nothing serious resulting; though Nan was much 
subdued in spirits and wandered off to the or- 
chard alone to stuff green apples. I observed 
she found green apples a panacea for all her 
woes. 

Soon after this she returned home, with barely 
a respectable dress to travel in. A week or so 


OF KENTUCKY 


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later she wrote me a long, affectionate letter, 
saying she’d replenished her wardrobe, and sent 
all her much-abnsed toggery to the orphans’ 
home, save the dress she took her excursion in ; 
she kept that as a memento of the time she flog- 
ged J oe Benton with such telling effect. 

And now, here she was again, a well-grown 
girl, and far more capable of getting herself and 
others into trouble. And as I previously re- 
marked, she burst in upon my meditations like 
a small tornado, her hat swinging from one 
arm and about a yard of her dress skirt trail- 
ing behind, where she’d torn it from the waist. 
She made a dash for me, and with a rapturous 
hug or two, she exclaimed, breathing hard as 
though she’d been running: 

‘^You dear, precious old flurry-worry, how 
glad I am to see you again. I’ve run myself 
almost out of breath! You didn’t know I was 
coming, so as a matter of course, I had to walk 
from the station. I took the path across the 
fields, and when I got about half way through 
Squire Hartley’s meadow, hearing a peculiar 
noise, I glanced back and saw the Squire’s big 
red cow coming in my direction, with his head 
down, mumbling to himself in an ugly under- 
tone. I darted off at the greatest speed I could 
make, reaching the cross fence, I climbed up 
to the top rail and without a waver in my mind 


104 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


tumbled right over into a bed of briars and 
brambles; somehow my dress caught, and I left 
the greater part of it on the top rail. ’ ’ 

‘‘Do sit down,’’ I cried, “you do make me so 
nervous, I feel just like I was going to fly all 
to splinters.” 

Down she dropped on a chair, continuing in 
explanation of her presence : 

“You see Daddy is off on a business tour ; but 
before he left he had me write and ask you could 
I remain with you in their absence, for mother 
accompanied him. If such arrangement was 
satisfactory I was to understand as much by 
your silence; if, on the contrary, you could not 
take me, you were to write. ’ ’ 

“I got no communication from you, or you’d 
not be here,” I said, smiling into her bright, 
flushed face. 

“Oh, I understood as much,” she went on 
glibly, “so after reading my letter to Daddy, 
and just previous to starting out to post it, I 
burned it. You see I feared you might be treas- 
uring up a few recollections of the past, and re- 
fuse me shelter in my loneliness. Oh dear, how 
nice to get back to old friends, ’ ’ patting on the 
head old Shag, who had followed her into the 
house, and stood by her side wagging his tail 
in friendly greeting. 


OF ia:NTUCKY 


105 


almost a grown young lady now, and 
more dextrous at climbing and driving; and 
I’m sure I could manage a craft with more skill 
than formerly. I regret Joe’s absence, as my 
pugilistic abilities are much augmented by my 
three years’ growth.” 

She laughed joyously. ^^I’m a fixture for a 
month at least,” she continued, ^^and you had 
as well send over to the station for my trunk 
and accept me as philosophically as you can.” 
With this, she threw her hat on a table, drew 
her torn skirt around, pinned the rent together 
and made herself at home. 

After Nan had been with us a few days, and 
Alma not being home, and that poetry still nag- 
ging me, I was constrained by unmingled worry 
over it, to confide to her Time’s story, and the 
state of affairs ’twixt her, Jim and Skip. She 
listened to my recital but said not a word, yet 
a merry twinkle flashed from her bright eye, 
and I could see mischief brewing. After this 
she donned her most bewitching attire, and I 
could see she was planning for a siege. It was, 
^^Mr. Skip, don’t you agree with me” about 
thus and so, and ‘‘Mr. Sparks” this and “Mr. 
Sparks” that, and “Mr. Sparks, will you be so 
kind as to favor me in some way or other. ’ ’ It 
was not three days till she had him on stilts 
with his head up in the air; he would not even 


106 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


vouclisafe to Tiny a kind word, snnbbed ber 
without mercy, casting only a one-cornered 
glance in her direction when it was impossible 
to throw it otherwhere. 

I had already given Nan the key to Alma’s 
piano, and, possessing a very sweet voice, she 
would often on evenings flood the house with 
music. Skip would sit near her and drink in 
the songs as he would egg-nog or sweet cider. 
She’d sing specially for him, such as dream 
of thee,” and love thee only,” and like non- 
sense, till he’d be completely intoxicated. Tiny 
ceased to giggle, and went about her work, si- 
lent, watchful and neglected, with a longing in 
her eye whenever Nan arrayed herself in fresh 
attire. 

Now, however, little I was pleased over 
Tinie’s evident admiration of Skip, still less 
was I satisfied over Nan’s show of a like senti- 
ment, and I was determined not to allow such 
proceedings while I had her in hand, and I 
spoke rather crossly to her about her conduct. 
Said she in a surprised tone: thought you 

wanted his affections alienated from Tinie; I 
was trying to please you; besides, it is agree- 
able pastime for me. He is perfectly charming 
and excruciatingly entertaining; it costs me the 
greatest effort to keep my features under con- 
trol while he is pouring his sentimental rhap- 


OF KENTUCKY 


lor 


sodies and poetical gushings into my ears/’’ 
and she bnrst into a merry laugh. 

‘‘Nan/’ I replied solemnly, “I much prefer 
you climbing trees, stuffing green apples and 
breaking colts, than go making a fool of Skip^ 
He’s dreadfully conceited; his imagination, like 
his conscience, is made of gum-elastic. It will 
be an easy matter for him to believe you love- 
him, and when you undeceive him he will say 
something disagreeable about you, and now 
you’ve got to let him alone.” To give emphasis; 
to my remarks, I struck the table a resounding; 
whack with the roller I was pressing pie crust 
with. She paid no heed to my words, but went 
straight on flirting with him. 

Soon after this, Jim came with the intelli- 
gence that Uncle Grib had so far recovered as to 
be off on one of his long trips. 

Nan viewed Jim and his Sunday attire with 
apparent fun and curiosity, and he having part- 
ly overcome his bashfulness, watched Nan with 
wonder lurking in his honest gray eye. 

When she began singing and playing, he flung 
all restraint to the winds, drew near and asked 
her to sing spiritual songs, while he joined in 
with the bass. He loved music for music’s sake,, 
and forgot everything, even Tinie, who was rest- 
less as a leaf in the wind, fluttering in and out 
of the room, giving every indication of uneasi- 


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ness, considering she’d let Jim slide from her 
heart. Skip, too, was forgotten and sulked off 
to bed. After this, Jim fetched his fiddle and 
-came more frequently. He and Nan fiddled, 
:sang and talked. She’d ask him about trees 
and rocks and farm work, of all of which he 
had a goodly store of knowledge; and never a 
word did she let him have with Tinie, though 
quite often I made it my duty to break into their 
confidential chats and march her off to bed. 
"When Jim had gone, she’d turn her battery of 
mellow looks and love-sick songs on Skip again, 
who would fall direct into line and move along 
straight as a plumb, swallowing her blandish- 
ments without a particle of trouble. 

All this was very trying on me, who wished 
to keep my household under strict decorum. To 
Tinie and me she spoke depreciatingly of Skip 
and lauded Jim to the skies. One day we were 
all three engaged over one piece of work, can- 
ning, I think. Sighing deeply, she asked if I 
thought her father would give his consent to 
her marriage with Jim. Her pretended serious- 
ness at this time I thought too apparent to be 
overlooked by the most stupid; but Tinie ac- 
cepted it as truth. Poor Tinie, about this time 
I observed she was having a tough scuffle with 
her feelings. She stole quietly about with her 
lip dangling down like a motherless colt’s. Not 


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109 * 


a giggle did she indulge in, and I decided her 
last state was less endurable than the first. 

One Sabbath morn, Jim came stalking up 
from the front gate attired in a suit of new 
clothes. I sat just inside the open window and 
heard their greeting, for Tinie was sweeping 
the veranda floor in a great hurry, and did not 
see him till he was by her side. She turned a 
startled look on him with — ^^Oh, Jim, you 
skeered me! I thought you was — ’’ 

‘‘Your sweetheart, Mr. Sparks!’^ he asked 
contemptuously. 

“No I didn’t, neither,” said she, blushing. 
“Jim, ITl never mix you up with him in my 
thorts any more.” 

“Thank you,” says Jim, “the mixin’ was no 
honor to me; and I’m glad you’re honest enough 
to say you have decided to let him reign supreme 
in your affections. But some day, Tinie, you’ll 
think of me and the faithful heart you’ve flung 
away for that weazel face monkey. I shall 
come here no more to trouble you with my pres- 
ence when Miss Nan goes away. ’ ’ 

“Oh, Jim,” she repeated, as she raised her 
sad, humid eyes to his, “don’t you know, can’t 
you see that I — ” 

“Yes, I know,” said he, interrupting, “you’ve 
a way of expressing yourself not to be misun- 
derstood. When you said you loved me no 


110 


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longer, my mind was just clear enough to take 
in all you meant. If you find youVe made a 
mistake, you’ll have to come and tell me so; I’ll 
never go to you again with a proffer of my love. 
I would not tell Uncle Gid we’d played quits, 
his heart is so set on our marrying, it would 
have been a disappointment he ’d not likely have 
got over, particularly while he was ailin’.” With 
this he turned and went straight to Nan, who 
was trying sacred tunes on the piano. 

Half an hour later I found Tinie in my room 
leaning on a table with her face buried in her 
hands. 

Tinie, are you ailing?” I asked. 

‘‘Not much,” she answered, “only my head 
aches a little, as she turned her tear-stained eyes 
Tip at me. 

“Perhaps it’s your heart that aches. You’d 
better go to the parlor and see how becoming 
Jim Shanks’ store clothes are. Nan is playing 
some new songs ; you might learn to sing them. ’ ’ 

“I hate her and her songs, too!” she cried, 
with venom, snuffling and sobbing the words 
•out. 

“Well, then, go out to the back gate where 
Skip is whittling and chewing so industriously 
and talk with him. ’ ’ 

“I wish Skip was in Halifax,” said she, yet 
sniffling; “and I hope to gracious some day 


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111 


he’ll whittle his head clean off’n his shoulders! 
He ain’t fitten to live nohow!” 

‘^Laws a massy, child, have yon lost your 
senses?” I asked, surprised, for I didn’t know 
she possessed so much snap. 

Says she in a yet more distressed tone: ‘‘No, 
I wish I had I I wish I was dead. ’ ’ 

“W’y, bless my soul, how do you suppose 
Hncle Gid and Jim would get on without you?” 
I asked consolingly. I struck the key note this 
time. Down went her head again and there was 
a fresh bout of bitter tears as she sobbed out: 
*“1 don’t know what Uncle Gib would do, but 
Jim’s makin’ out mighty well ’thout me now.” 

Poor little creature ! I read her heart at once. 
I did not know why she had written that poem, 
but I did know now that her heart was Jim’s. 
Here was a muddle and Alma gone. I knew she 
could smooth out this love entanglement, for 
she’d had an ailment of like nature in her girl- 
hood, but some time must elapse before her re- 
turn. Nan Hollis’ demeanor had been such that 
I trusted her no longer. She might have flirted 
with Skip till crack of doom, with not a scar 
left only to his vanity, but to coquet with poor, 
honest Jim’s affections was more than I was 
called to put up with. 

“Tinie,” said I, after a moment’s reflection, 
“if you lose Jim you let slip a mighty fine 


112 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


chance for three good meals a day; but yonVe 
yourself to thank for it. I knew when yon were 
angling for Skip, you were allowing your grip 
on Jim’s affections to slacken, but should the 
opportunity otfer of reclaiming him, you be 
careful not to trifle with his heart again. ’ ’ 

With this I turned and left her to nurse 
her headache and heartache. 

Nan came into the kitchen to assist me about 
preparing dinner, and was so merry after all 
the mischief she’d wrought I felt terribly in- 
clined to box her ears. As she turned the slap- 
jacks on the griddle she asked if Tinie was ail- 
ing much. 

^Wes, you ought to ask after her health,” I 
answered in wrathful tones, ^Hhe way you’re 
carrying on with Jim Shanks, and her and him 
promised to marry; it’s enough to make a saint 
ail!” 

‘‘Did you not know she’d broken that en- 
gagement for that lout out there?” she asked, 
pointing to Skip down on the meadow fence. 

“Let me explain,” she continued. “After 
you confided to me Time’s story and showed 
such evident desire to aid Jim’s suit, I grew 
interested, and in lieu of better amusement, I 
went about testing the stability of Tinie ’s and 
Skip’s affection for each other. I soon proved 
the sincerity of Skip’s devotion. Tinie made 


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113 


two or three fruitless elforts to hold his atten- 
tion, then good-natnredly ceased, being sus- 
tained by an inward conviction of possessing 
Jim’s entire heart, and believing when weary 
of Skip she could turn to Jim and find him un- 
changed ; but when the test came, she found, to 
her astonishment and grief, that he was not 
quite so acquiescent. 

^^When I first met Jim, I sat about studying 
him, and found ^ a diamond in the rough. ’ And 
don’t you think,” said she, spreading a fresh 
batch of slap-jacks on the griddle, don’t you 
think I won the whole story from him at our 
second interview, by intimating I knew all about 
his trouble over Time’s unfaithfulness? He 
loves her beyond anything earthly, and, to use 
his own language, would have ‘^dug ditches, or 
climbed steeples for her sake.’ They were be- 
trothed with Uncle Gid’s sanction. Then she 
met Skip and grew indifferent towards Jim and 
ridiculed his short pants and rusty coat; finally 
he became exasperated at her conduct and the 
engagement was broken. He enlisted my sym- 
pathies at once; I bade him not despair, for 
Skip was kneeling at my shrine, and paying me 
the most ardent devotions I had ever been the 
recipient of, and I had not the remotest idea of 
relinquishing him to Tinie. But I find Jim ob- 
stinate and unrelenting. He thinks it would be 


114 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


too humiliating after the rejection of him, for 
Skip, to renew his ofPer of love; so Tinie must 
make all advances towards a reconciliation. But 
there are some facts in the case with which 
neither Jim nor 'Tinie are acquainted, and 
which I, through curiosity have obtained.’’ Just 
here in her talk I missed Skip from the meadow 
fence. 

Nan proceeded: ‘‘A forlorn looking old man 
has been visiting Daddy’s office at intervals for 
some time. I fell to wondering who in the world 
he could be, and what his business. Daddie in- 
formed me he was a wealthy land-owner, had 
bought, or taken up lands away oft somewhere, 
and upon one claim he had somewhat neglected 
to look after, a town and railroad had sprung 
suddenly up. That forlorn-looking old man was 
Uncle Gid Miggles. He and Daddy are oft, 
looking after that same land and will return 
next week.” 

My indignation had been oozing out, drop 
by drop, all along the thread of her story, till 
now there was but little left. 

‘^Go on,” I cried, ‘Hf you’ve anything more 
to say.” 

After spreading butter on the last batch of 
flap-jacks, she proceeded: ''Can’t you see 
through it all? If Uncle Gid proves up, Tinie 


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115 


•can buy the whole kit of us and have money 
left/^ 

‘‘Nan, are you sure certain, you^re telling the 
truth r’ I asked, doubtful. 

“As true as truth, she replied; “and isn’t 
it too lovely for anything? Like a romance in 
a novel; and to think I’m playing such an active 
part in it ! I mean Jim and Tinie shall make up 
in the most approved style; his obstinacy is all 
the better for forwarding my plans — ” 

At this moment there was a terrible racket 
raised just outside the kitchen window, as if 
some one had fallen from somewhere. We looked 
in time to see Skip’s Sunday coat-tail vanish 
around the comer. It occured to us in a moment 
that Skip had been eavesdropping. 

“Oh! oh!” Nan cried in dismay, wringing her 
hands, “that was a secret, I heard Uncle Gid 
tell Baddy so !” 

She tore round that kitchen like a scared rab- 
bit. 

“That scape-goat has heard every word! I 
could pound my own silly brains ! Bo some one 
cut my tattling tongue out ! The low, vile sneak, 
had I known he was there, I should have del- 
uged him with scalding water! Baddy will kill 
me in his anger, I’m sure; what shall I do?” 

She dropped down on a chair entirely over- 
come, for she knew Skip would in some way 


116 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


make use of the knowledge he’d so dishonestly 
obtained. She was in ntter distress, wringing- 
her hands and cudgeling her brains, and finally 
reached this conclusion: With my consent she 
would return home, and if possible, persuade 
Tinie to accompany her, there to await Uncle 
Gid’s coming, and thereby guard her from 
Skip ’s advances. I told her I thought that un- 
necessary. I believed Time’s recent experience- 
had taught her how to value Jim’s love, though 
I was not positive my conjectures were correct 
ones, for I knew there were many girls, after a 
rupture such as Time’s and Jim’s, who had 
wrecked their happiness by marrying the first 
offer, to prove to the world their indifference.. 

We found Tinie moping behind the window 
curtains in my room. It did not take Nan long- 
to sujficiently explain the part she’d taken in 
the affair, and by an offer of great big wages tO' 
win Time’s consent to go with her, for Nan had 
a willy-nilly tongue, and Tinie was pliant as a 
lump of biscuit dough. At Nan’s instigation 
she wrote Jim a note which Nan handed him. 
Presently he came stalking in, and not observ- 
ing Tinie, he walked straight to where I sat, his 
face ashy pale and his eyes like living coals of 
fire. Handing me the slip of paper he asked: 
^^Is this true; if so, where is she?” I read: 


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IIT 


^‘Dear Jim: — ^You would not listen to me this 
morning, but you will at least allow me to say 
farewell. I am going to L , to seek an- 

other home, there to await Uncle Gid’s coming. 
My head aches, which I hope you will accept as 
my excuse for taking this method of saying 
^ood-bye. ‘Tinie.^’ 

‘Mt^s true,’’ I replied, ^‘and you’ll find her 
in that window behind the curtain.” 

He faced about and without hesitation walked 
to where she sat. In his straightforward way 
he asked, as he leaned with one hand on a table, 
for he was somewhat nervous : ‘ ^ Tinie, are you 
running away from here to marry Skip 
Sparks?” 

‘‘To marry Skip Sparks!” she cried, indigo 
nantly; “I’d sooner go drown myself in the 
duck pond ! ’ ’ 

“You didn’t talk that way a week or so gone, 
just before Miss Nan came.” 

“You didn’t ask me that question before Miss 
Nan came.” 

“But you said you didn’t love me no longer.” 

“Because you got cross and spiteful at me, 
Jim.” 

“I had good cause for it,” he said. “Skip 
was payin’ you his notice, and you seemed 
mighty well pleased. ’ ’ 


118 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


^‘You neednT fling that at me/’ she said; ‘Y 
know somebody else that’s mighty well pleased 
becansed they’re noticed.” 

‘^Do yon mean me, Tinie? Ask her — ask Miss. 
Nan who I’m mostly interested in.” 

She’s the very one I’d ask if I was at all 
cnrions to find out, which I hain’t.” 

‘‘See here, Tinie,” says Jim, bridling up,. 
“I’m tired of this here perlaver.” 

“You begun it,” said she. 

“You shall end it,” he answered, “for I’m 
goin’ to ask you a straight, honest question, 
and you’ve got to answer in the same way; if 
you don’t, with me it’s good-bye forever. As 
sure as there’s a heaven above us, I won’t be 
trifled with longer — ” He stopped short. 

“I’m listenin’,” she remarked, with a little 
quiver in her voice. 

“Will you — will you marry me when Uncle 
Gid comes home?” 

“What would I marry you for?” she asked. 

“Because you love me.” 

“Ef them’s all the conditions, I won’t marry 
you, Jim.” 

“Well, then,” leaning on the table for sup- 
port again, she facing him, ‘ ‘ because I love you^ 
and shall be miserable till my life ends if you 
refuse to marry me. ’ ’ 


OF KENTUCKY 


119 


Seeing her smile up at him (I was awfully 
afraid she^d giggle, she only smiled), he took 
her face in his two big hands, stooped down and 
kissed her. 

^‘That clinches the bargain,’’ I remarked, 
laughing outright. 

Jim faced about, and for the first time remem- 
bered I was present. Leading her to me : ‘ ‘ Can 
she stay with you till I come for her?” 

‘^Most assuredly,” I was going to reply, but 
was interrupted by Nan’s appearance. 

‘‘You idiots!” she cried out, “you’ve spoiled 
all my plans. I meant to carry her home with 
me and hide her away in the cellar or attic, and 
let you go roaming the world over to find her; 
now there’s nothing for me to do but congratu- 
late.” 

We didn’t see anything of Skip till Monday 
morn at breakfast. Tuesday eve, Tinie got the 
following epistle in our mail. As she read it I 
observed a troubled expression come into her 
smiling eyes. 

“What is it now Tinie?” I questioned. 

She handed me her open letter for perusal. 
It ran as follows: 

“Miss Tinie Miggles. 

“Dear Tinie: — ^You may be surprised at re- 
ceivin’ this epistol and when I declare to you 


120 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


that my heart is bustin’ with love and aisk you 
to be my wife and which cain’t be happy no 
more in this life onless you say you wiU. I 
adoor you and caint not quell the troubling wat- 
ers of my soul no longer, I mout as well try to 
squench the rath of the whirlwin’. I have tried 
to be indifferent and break the delurements your 
charms have cast about my heart by givin’ ear 
to Nancy Hollises endearin’ words and ad- 
vances, for you or anybody could see with one 
eye shot and ’tother half open that she has been 
aimin’ to entrap me into mattery mony ever 
sence she come, but I have at last turned a deef 
year to her, for I could never, no never, marry a 
girl who would do the courtin’, but in you, dear- 
est Tinie, I find combined all that is lovely and 
desirable. I have been yearnin’ to tell you this 
but could not, for Nancy she dogs my steps so 
dost with her attentions. I think she will marry 
Jim Shanks when she finds I’m lost to her for- 
ever and which he like Barkis in the words of 
the immortal poet Dickents, seems willin’. I 
have formed a plan which I know will be agree- 
able to you. I want me and you to hie away 
from here and get marraid. Be shore and write 
me when we will hither go and ease my troub- 
ling mind. Don’t let Nancy nor noby else see 
this. Forever your own true lovin’ Skip.” 


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121 


Nan’s prediction and my apprehension was 
being verified. Skip meant to take a nigh cut 
to fortune, and he had already begun vilifying 
and casting calumnious reflections on Nan, and 
I wanted her to know it ; I believed it would be 
good for her morals, and without asking leave 
of Tinie, I forthwith read her that portion to 
herself. 

‘‘The contemptible, low-down, eavesdropping 
reptile!” she cried, throwing aside the letter 
she’d been reading. “I can’t stay to undeceive 
him, for daddy has written me to come home, 
but I will write the vile creature a note and ex- 
press myself fully as to my opinion of him. ’ ’ 
“You shall do no such thing. Miss,” I re- 
marked in tones not to be mistaken. “I warned 
ye and ye paid no heed, so there. ’ ’ 

Then she prevailed on Tinie to allow her the 
dictation of a reply to Skip’s communication. 
They went immediately about it, which, when 
written ran thus : 

“Mr. Sparks: — Owing to there being certain 
statutes in our country which forbids a woman 
having two husbands, I must decline the honor 
you seem so desirous of conferring on me. It 
is not Nancy, but I, who at an early date, am to 
marry Jim Shanks. And had you been sharp- 
sighted, you might even, ‘with one eye shot and 
t’other half open,’ have seen Nan Hollis was 


122 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


only amusing herself at your expense. I must 
congratulate you on having come out of this en- 
counter without a wound, and that no serious 
results followed your tumble from the window 
last Sunday when you were overlooking the 
preparations for dinner. Tinie.’’ 

This last thrust of Nan’s, Tinie did not under- 
stand, no more than she did Skip’s sudden 
change of conduct, and we dared not enlighten 
her yet. However, so soon as Skip read Tinie ’s 
reply, he bunched his duds and eloped with them 
to parts unknown. Nan went home, to return 
a little later to escort Jim and Tinie on a bridal 

tour to the big circus at L . They were 

married at Jim’s mother’s, and were more than 
stupefied over Uncle Gid’s bridal gift of lands 
and money. 


CHAPTER XII. 


AUNT CKONIE^S ENCOUNTER WITH THE HONEY BEE.. 

I had not by any m^ans been forgetful of 
Laura, but had fairly lost sight of her. Her time= 
was so occupied with her bees, her music class- 
and other labors, she had no leisure for the be- 
stowal of visits. I never met a girl of eighteen 
with so many tasks to perform who fulfilled all 
duties so perfectly. She ran in for a few mo- 
ments’ visit to Xan, but averred they were stolen 
moments, and that she’d be prosecuted for the 
theft. She was making amends, seemingly, for 
the eighteen years of idleness. Just so soon as 
the responsibility of Nan and Tinie was lifted 
from my shoulders, I resumed my old employ- 
ment, that of solicitude for Laura; and one day 
I caught up a good-sized bucket and carried it 
over to procure honey of her. I was looking^ 
for Alma and the children home pretty soon, 
and must make arrangements for having a sweet 
time. Each one of those expected guests was. 
proprietor of a sweet tooth, and I must make 
ample preparation for the gratification of that 
same. 


124 : 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


It was now the last week in June, and they 
were to arrive the first of the incoming month. 
Bee swarming was about over, and Laura had 
begun robbing. From the twelve hives she had 
ten swarms, and had the good fortune to save 
nil swarms. The honey crop was abundant and 
delicious. To the disappointment of Jack, she 
found a ready home market, and the idea of 
peddling about the streets of L was aban- 

doned. 

When I reached the bee yard, I found Laura 
with her bee bonnet and gloves on. Hovering 
near was Uncle Tobe similarly equipped. (The 
bee bonnet was invented for use, not adorn- 
ment.) Not far away sat Aunt Crony on a chair 
nursing her rheumatism, while Patsy, out of 
danger’s reach, reconnoitered the bee yard at 
various points. Pete was absent, had gone on 
an errand, not thinking the bees would swarm 
again so late; but as usual the unexpected had 
happened at an unpropitious moment, and 
Haura had called Uncle Tobe to her assistance. 

The bees had alighted on a very high-up 
branch of a tree, where neither Laura nor Uncle 
Tobe could reach them with the swarming box. 
After debating for some time, they decided it 
would be best that Uncle Tobe should climb the 
tree, saw off a limb and lower it with a rope. A 
^search for the rope was instituted, but no rope 


OF KENTUCKY 


125. 


could be found; then Laura remembered Pete 
bad carried it borne with bim to make bis. 
mother a clothes line. At this moment I espied 
Pete away over on a bill almost a quarter of a 
mile away, returning from bis errand, walking 
leisurely along, whistling loudly and merrily. 
I was almost sure be was so absorbed in the air 
be was trilling that bis ears were closed to all 
outward sounds, but under the spur of necessity^ 
I ran across the road and clinging to a high 
gate post, I stood on the fence and yelled: 
‘ ‘ P-e-e-t-t-e-r ! ‘ ‘ 0-o-b- P-ee-tt-e-er ! ’ ’ 

‘^Hello!’’ came resounding back. 

‘‘H-u-u-r-r-y u-p. Come by home and get the 
clothes line!’^ 

‘‘Whose cow is it choked and d-y-i-n-g*? Tell 
granny to give her s-a-g-e t-e-a ! ^ ’ be called back, 

“You come home q-u-i-c-k!’’ I bawled. 

‘Wbo^d you say was k-i-c-k-e-d?’’ came echo- 
ing from across the bill. I was at my wit’s end. 

“Tell bim the bees have swarmed!” called 
Laura to me. But at that moment something 
more potent occurred to me. 

“L-au-r-a! L-a-u-r-a!” I screamed. He shot 
from that bill like a flash, and five minutes later 
tumbled, puffing and blowing like a tempest into 
the bee-yard. 

He looked over at Laura, dropped down on 
the grass, snatched bis old bat oft and with it 


126 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


began fanning with a vengeance. Laura caught 
up a turkey wing they used about the bee-yard, 
and sitting down by his side she started a cur- 
rent of air with that wing sufficient to cool a 
red-hot furnace. 

‘‘Well I’m bio wed, if I ever was so bio wed,” 
laughed Pete. “I thought some one said the 
cows had kicked you and you were dying,” he 
continued, turning to Laura. 

“A more serious matter for you than that 
has occurred. The bees have swarmed.” 

“No more serious matter could come my 
way,” he said, putting the old hat back on his 
head. 

“What, than for the bees to swarm I” she ex- 
claimed. 

“No, the other,” he responded. 

He rose to his feet, proffering his hand to as- 
sist her in the same. 

“Now for business.” He brought a table, 
placed it under the huge knot of bees, that hung 
in a cone-like mass from the branch of the tree; 
on the table he placed a box; donning the bee 
bonnet and gloves, he mounted upon this high 
perch. Grasping the swarming box, he thrust 
it up among the branches near the bees and gave 
a vigorous shake to the limb on which they 
hung. 


OF KENTUCKY 


12T 


Down they came, single, double, in clusters, 
by the bunch and most any old way you could 
think of; but almost instantly they began 
ascending again to the swarming box. A few 
stragglers lingered below, intent on other busi- 
ness. We all stood near by gazing up, not 
thinking of trouble. 

‘^Look out,’’ called Pete from his eminence 
above. 

Just then a bee with agitation in its voice 
came my way and I fled to the porch in front 
of the cottage to watch proceedings from a safe 
distance. 

‘‘Clar out from dis. Crony, or you’ll forgit 
you got de rumatiz terrec’ly,” shouted Uncle 
Tobe. 

At this instant a sharp squeak proceeded from 
Patsy’s neighborhood. Pawing the ground and 
beating her head, she made a dash for Aunt 
Crony, who had, seemingly with greatest diffi- 
culty and aid of her crutch, risen from her chair. 

‘‘Don’t you come dis way, nigger,” raising 
the crutch menacingly. “You git wus’n bees ef 
I lam you over de haid wid dis crutch. ’ ’ 

Unheeding the admonition, Patsy circled 
nearer and nearer her granny. Finally, in a last 
effort to escape from her pursuer, she gave a 
prolonged squeal and a bound that landed her, 
a slimpsy heap at Aunt Crony’s feet. 


128 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Uncle Tobe’s warning of his wife about for- 
getting her ^ ‘ rumatiz ’ ’ asserted itself by an un- 
hesitating relinquishment of her crutch and a 
decided stampede for safe quarters. 

‘‘Oh, Lordy! I’se done up dis tiine,’’ she 
groaned, sinking on the door-step near me. 

“Ugh ! ugh ! I feel it in my bones, 1^11 never be 
able to move off^n dis do’ step, I know I shant,” 
she continued, while rubbing the afflicted limb 
compassionately. 

“Ef I had dat nigger by de wool, I’d give ’er 
what she need, I’d poun’ ’er sof’, I would. I 
’low I wouldn’t leave bre’f in her body, de con- 
foun’ little debil. I don’t know how I gwine 
git up fum here ’dout no crutch nor nuffin to 
he’p me. Ugh! ugh! I jest can’t nohow.” 

I was going to suggest calling Uncle Tobe to 
fetch the needed articles, but at this moment 
Patsy rose to her feet and with renewed elastic- 
ity, came bounding toward us at breakneck 
speed, pounding her head and squealing every 
jump, with two or three bees in full chase. 

Once more Aunt Crony rose to the occasion 
and otf she waddled. 

Patsy, not viewing rheumatic grandmothers 
in the light of obstacles, ran into the old woman, 
upsetting her, rheumatism and all, where she 
was left prostrate, calling on the Lord to save 
her from utter destruction. I went to her assist- 


OF KENTUCKY 


129 


ance, and, with Uncle Tobe’s help, rescued her 
from further demolition. 

Patsy and her three bees had skurried over 
the yard fence and away out across the lot, out 
of sight and hearing. 

''Gi^ up fum he’ar. Crony,’’ said Uncle Tobe 
harshly, raising her with difficulty. ^^Nex’ time 
you better take my device an’ stay at home.” 

hopes fum de bottom er my soul dat gal 
break ’er naik as she libs,” said Aunt Crony. 

’low you git yer wish, fur as de naik goes. 
I see ’er turn er summerset, nuf to break de naik 
offi er two-year-old yearlin’ calf over that ar 
bob wire fence on tur side the lot.” 

‘^Good Lord a massy, Tobe, run, honey, and 
hunt de chile. I clar ef she hurt anywhars I 
never git ove ’ it. I promise her mammy on ’er 
dyin’ baid, I take keer dat precious one, lak she 
was a suckin’ lam’, and ef she hu’t herse’f — fer 
God’s sake, Tobe, honey, run, run ef you gwin- 
ter and see ’bout de po’ chile.” 

And Crony, leaning on her recovered crutch, 
gave vent to a mournful howl, while watching 
Uncle Tobe as he cantered across the lot, from 
whence he soon returned with the sobbing 
'Gam’.” 

"Patsy, honey, is you hu’t?” called out Aunt 
Crony as they neared us. 


130 


’MONGST THE HH^LS 


‘‘No-oh-um, I not hurt, bu-ut I skeered inter 
ker-kernipsbum fits,^^ Patsy sobbed. 

‘‘Well, I glad you not buT; I bu’ts you when 
I gits you borne. I have a sbo ^-nuff settlement, 
you good fur nothin’, low down scrape goat. 
Sbo’ you born I give you kernipsbum fits,” said 
Aunt Crony, shaking her fist at Patsy in a 
menacing way, as she hobbled off towards home, 
Patsy following, sobbing and scrubbing her two 
eyes with her little black fists. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


MISS JEAN CAKVIL. 

Early one morning Doctor Brice called and 
informed me of the illness of Miss Jeannette 
Oarvil. She and I were quite good friends and 
accustomed to an exchange of all-day visits 
twice or thrice each year. I had been due her 
•one of these annual calls for some time, but our 
social intercourse had been interrupted by the 
arduousness of my household duties, and when 
I learned of her illness I felt a twinge of con- 
science, and my mind was immediately made up 
to at once visit her. 

Miss Jeannette, or Miss Jean, as she was 
more familiarly called, was a kind, loveable, 
lonely old maid, living out a mile or two from 
the station on a farm with the old family serv- 
ants who had come with her from Sunny Flor- 
ida, not as slaves, but still proving their alleg- 
iance by never having deserted her. When I 
reached Miss Jean’s room I found the old serv- 
ant, of Miss Jean’s own age, sitting by the bed- 
side, anticipating every wish of the invalid, with 


132 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


a huge peacock’s tail, fighting away any investi- 
gating fly that came buzzing round. 

Miss Jean was one whom most of her neigh- 
bors esteemed, for her kindly, pleasant manner 
and many benevolent acts, though there were 
some narrow-minded, near-sighted, prejudiced 
individuals who censured her manner of living 
alone with the slaves of other days. I often 
thought of the ugly duckling when I heard these 
otfensive, ill-natured innuendoes cast at the 
sweet, loving Jean Oarvil. 

When that time arrives, that each of us shall 
have our willingly distorted views drawn in a 
straight line for us by the One whose all-seeing 
eye penetrates the heart of all, how confused,, 
how embarrassed and sneaking we will feel at 
the deformities of the mean prejudiced thoughts, 
we have held towards our fellow beings. 

Miss Jean was a relic of ante-bellum days — a 
child of the Sunny South, which fate, or destiny,, 
had transplanted to Kentucky soil. That she 
was not happy, or content, a casual acquaintance 
would never suspect. One not knowing what 
her early experiences had been, or her life, pre- 
vious to her advent among us, would believe she 
had never been other than the quiet, stately 
being, who came and went often among us, as 
a ministering angel, where want and distress 
abode, never once passing by on the other side. 


OF KENTUCKY 


133 


To me she had in part revealed the story of her 
€arly life, before the civil war and after ; but it 
was only in part; for this day I^m speaking of 
when I made her a visit, I got the revelation in 
its entirety. 

Said sj^e: was the petted, spoiled child of 

fortune. Loved to idolatry by a proud, stern, 
ambitious father; adored to excess by an indul- 
gent mother; petted and worshipped as some- 
thing too superior for earth by a large planta- 
tion of dusky slaves ; it was not to be wondered 
over that I grew up a spoiled aristocrat. When 
I was ten years old, a little brother came to 
share in the love and adoration lavished hereto- 
fore on me alone, but with the advent of little 
Paul, my darling mother ’s life went out. 

After my school days were over, I entered 
society as its queen. The idol of a select set, I 
engaged with zest in every pleasure that pre- 
sented itself, and enjoyed to the utmost all that 
life could give of enjoyment. I was called the 
beautiful, the fascinating Miss Carvil, all of 
which had 'a tendency to generate within me a 
spirit of pride and arrogance. 

^‘In my circle I reigned supreme, till one fate- 
ful evening I destroyed all, ruined my prospects 
for a wealthy marriage, which my father had 
planned for me with a young neighbor, whose 
estate joined ours, and rendered furious that 


134 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


father’s irascible temper, when he made the dis- 
covery that I had fallen irrevocably in love with 
a young theologian — a poor Methodist preach- 
er’s son.” 

^‘Yes, yes, honey,” said Aunt Inda, who still 
sat near. never see nobody so mad in all my 
born days as Mars John Oarvil when he learn 
de fac’. He r’ar, he far er ’round jes lak er 
mad cow critter, skeered us niggers might nigh 
out our senses, specially me, as was one o’ de 
house gerls and pinted to tend on Miss Jean. 
’Pears lak I kin hear my years er ringin’ ter 
dis day, when I think how he box ’em right an’* 
lef ’, when I couldn’t tell but jes’ what I knowed 
about de case an’ no mo ’. Hit make me mad and 
scar’ me, too, twell dis day thinkin’ ’bout it.” 

met Ernest Irving,” continued Miss 
Jean, after Aunt Inda’s outburst of unpleasant, 
memories, ‘‘at an evening’s entertainment, and 
was fascinated by the charm of his serious, 
earnest manner and strikingly handsome and 
interesting face and form, not thinking on that 
evening but that I should forget him by to-mor- 
row, as I had many another handsome and in- 
teresting passing acquaintance; but no, I was 
mistaken in my desires and conclusions, for his 
face and manner kept recurring to me, and,, 
strive hard as I might to efface him from my 
mind, I could not. ‘ No., no,’ I said to myself. 


OF KENTUCKY 


135 


must not think so incessantly of this hand- 
some, prosy preacher. I shall destroy my peace 
of mind if I do not desist from such folly; I will 
forget him, I will obliterate this youth to for- 
tune and to fame unknown, from my thoughts. 
I will thrust him out; he shall not take posses- 
sion of my mind in any such way as this, ’ and I 
busied myself in making up an elaborate toilet 
for a. thespian entertainment, gotten up for 
some charitable purpose which I cannot now 
remember. 

On the evening of this performance, one of the 
leading actors, or, rather, one who had control 
of the orchestra, Kenneth Stanton, a tall, well 
grown young friend of mine, was called away, 
and in his stead Ernest Irving substituted. 
Being one of the performers myself, and not 
knowing of the change, after Inda had attired 
me in my elegant costume, I rushed down stairs 
and on to the stage which was erected in the 
large hall of the elegant Stanton mansion in the 
city. I was full of animation and delight at 
the beauty of my stage costume, for I had not 
then reached a realization of the truth that 
there were more serious things to consider than 
dress, admiration and flattery. 

reached the stage, and seeing Kenneth 
Stanton alone, as I thought, standing in the dim 
reflection of the footlights, looking intently at 


136 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


a scenic portiere which was hung at the rear 
of the stage, I tripped lightly down to his side 
and grasping him by the arm I exclaimed: 

‘‘ ‘Oh, Kenneth Stanton, do turn about and 
tell me truly what you think of me as an artist 
in dress!’ 

“I felt myself blushing violently when not 
Kenneth Stanton, but Ernest Irving turned 
and surveyed me from my stage-betinsled 
crowned head to the white slipper that protrud- 
ed from beneath my satin skirt. 

“ ‘Shall I tell you, Miss Carvil, what 1 think 
of you!’ he asked, slowly, seriously. ‘Shall I 
tell you, you are the most beautiful, the most ra- 
diant, the most bewitching creation with which 
my vision was ever blessed? Shall I say that 
were an angel from that bright, celestial world 
above to drop at my feet this evening with a 
message and demand my attention, were you 
near, I should turn from her to you and otfer 
the homage of my heart, my soul, my entire 
life, for I love you, I adore you.’ 

“ ‘But you are talking in your sleep,’ I quot- 
ed, for I had to some extent recovered my equi- 
poise, although trembling and embarrassed, not 
only over the mistake I had made, but for the 
thrill of extreme pleasure his words were af- 
fording me. 


OF KENTUCKY 


13T 


^No, I^m neither sleeping nor dreaming/ 
he continned in the same qniet, serious tone; 

have slept but little since our last meeting, 
yet when I did a vision of your sweet presence 
haunted my pillow, and I find you so kind, so 
gracious in my dreaming, I would fain sleep 
eternally. I know I am presuming when I tell 
you this, hut trust to your kind heart and noble 
nature to forget and forgive my ohtrusiveness 
in giving utterance so prematurely to my burn- 
ing thoughts. Miss Oarvil, will you forget and 
forgive my presumptions T 

^ ‘ My heart was momentarily going out to him. 
I felt instinctively the truth of his protestations, 
and I was happy, more happy than I had ever 
been in all my eighteen years. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Oh, Mr. Irving, ’ I cried, trying to restrain 
the happy tears that forced themselves to my 
eyes, M can forgive you, but I cannot — I can- 
not — ’ I hesitated. 

^Well, cannot — go on, please.^ 

M cannot forget,’ I said impulsively. 
‘Would you,’ he asked, regarding me earn- 
estly, ‘retain the memory of my words, that you 
might enjoy the thought of another who had fal- 
len a victim to your charms I ’ 


138 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘‘His last words pained me excessively. 

“Yon wrong me, Mr. IrVing, indeed yon do. 
It is not for the reason yon assign that I cannot 
forget.’ 

“My tears and my tremhling attitnde mnst 
have emboldened him, for he canght my hand in 
his and drew me nnresistingly nearer. 

“ ‘It is, then, hecanse yon feel pity for mef 
Do not pity me. Miss Carvil ; I wonld prize yonr 
scorn more than yonr pity.’ 

“ ‘It is hecanse — ^hecanse — ’ I was crying; 
blindly by this time, and he held both my hands 
in a tight clasp, and I had not any handkerchief. 

“ ‘Becanse what?’ he asked. 

“ ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘cannot yon let go of my hands % 
Do yon not see yon have made me cry by yonr 
nnjnst accnsations? I am spoiling my laces and 
rendering my face nnfit to be seen. ’ 

“ ‘Allow me,’ and taking both my hands in 
one of his, he drew a fresh handkerchief from 
his coat pocket and dried my falling tears. 

“It was only for a moment I permitted this^ 
for I hanghtily and forcefnlly drew my hands 
from his clasp. He was behaving towards me 
as thongh I were a child, and snddenly I felt 
all the dignity of my eighteen years stimnlat- 
ing me to resent snch liberty. 


OF KENTUCKY 


139 * 


‘‘ ‘You have not answered me/ he said, re- 
linqishing my hand. ‘You know '' because^ ^ 
woman’s indefinite reason for all things.’ 

“ ‘I cannot remember that I am due you an 
answer,’ I replied, with much hauteur. Then 
I could have bitten my tongue out for in any 
way reverting to what he had previously asked 
me. I felt that I was soliciting a reiteration of 
his question, which, in my embarrassment, I 
had for the moment forgotten, and I felt in a 
vague way that it was something perilous to 
venture on. I felt myself blushing and growing 
a little angry at his persistent, masterful man- 
ner. I had encountered , several wooings, but 
nothing so serious, so perplexing, so ardent as- 
this. 

“ ‘Miss Carvil,’ he asked earnestly, ‘would 
you deem it impertinence in me if I were to ask. 
if you are heart-whole? I mean, is your heart 
in your own keeping? You already know what 
my feelings are for you.’ 

“ ‘Mr. Irving, what right have you to probe: 
into my heart secrets? How dare you?’ 

“Then I paused and looked at him with all 
the indignation I could summon to my aid. Re- 
turning my look with those penetrating eyes,., 
that read my very soul, he calmly made reply r 
‘The same right that any honest, sincere mam 
has, who feels that his future depends upon one? 


140 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


or two little words spoken by her who holds 
that future in her keeping, whether for weal or 
woe. Is it true that you are plighted to Norman 
Ashmeadf Answer me truly. I will keep your 
secret inviolate.’ 

‘‘With an indifference I did not feel I made 
reply: ‘I have done nothing that entitles me 
to a father confessor, and I refuse to answer 
you.’ 

“He paled to the very lips at my manner and 
utterance, and I saw I had given him pain. As 
for me, I was on the eve of shedding a few more 
tears, but at the thought of that immaculate 
handkerchief, I restrained them. Down in the 
depths of my heart I acknowledged this man my 
king, and I could not bear the thought of seeing 
him suffer, so I replied, resuming a more pleas- 
ant tone : 

“ ‘Mr. Irving, that is my father’s and Nor- 
man Ashmead’s arrangement, not mine.’ 

“ ‘And you are free to be wooed and won?’ 
he asked, brightening; “free to bestow your 
heart on whomsoever you choose?’ 

“His dark, penterating eyes were upon me 
again. I knew he was determined to have the 
truth from me, if possible, and I was equally 
determined not to yield, and yet I knew he 
would not accept bandinage, or subterfuge, or 


OF KENTUCKY 


141 


the slightest swerving from the matter imder 
discussion. 

u i Perhaps I’m not altogether heart whole/ 
I answered evasively, ‘hut you need not let 
that fact engross so much of your attention.’ 

“ ‘Since when did you discover your heart 
was wandering?’ 

“He was smiling now, and strove to catch 
my hand again, but I eluded him by moving 
further away. 

“ ‘Miss Oarvil,’ he began again, with a re- 
turn to seriousness, ‘if you love Norman Ash- 
mead, or otherwise, and are keeping him in sus- 
pense, do so no longer; let me implore you, do 
not trifle with an honest man’s heart.’ 

I returned, blushing under his close scrutiny : 
‘I have never loved Norman Ashmead; love 
does not come at your beck or call, hence I have 
made no effort to love him.’ 

“ ‘I know,’ he said quietly, ‘yet he seems a 
worthy young man, and has wealth at his com- 
mand ; why can you not love him ? Is it because 
your heart is not your own to bestow on him?’ 

“It was with a mixture of sarcasm and vexa- 
tion I made this reply: ‘I infer, Mr. Irving, in 
your anatomical researches' the heart must 
have been the only organ you made a study of, 
as the heart is the only part of the human or- 
ganization you prefer to discuss.’ 


142 


’MONGST THE HH^LS 


‘‘I moved nearer the hand-painted portiere — 
my own work, which Enid Stanford had bor- 
Towed for the occasion. 

‘‘Striving to dissipate from his mind my last 
cutting remark, I asked, assuming 'a pleasant 
tone: ‘Have you ever observed how inferior 
work like this takes on a more respectable ap- 
pearance in artificial lights I surveyed my 
portiere as though I^d never seen it before. 

“ ‘I had observed nothing of the kind,’ he 
returned. ‘When I first saw the work this even- 
ing I thought what a beautiful conception and 
how well executed. I came near being a painter 
myself, but yielded to the stronger inclination 
to work in the Master’s vineyard. Since when. 
Miss Carvil, did you find you were not heart- 
whole?’ 

“ ‘WTiat if I were to tell you it was none of 
your affair,’ I stingingly answered. 

‘ ‘ He paid no heed whatever to my last words, 
but went persistently on with his probing, fix- 
ing my attention with those penetrating eyes 
of his. 

“ ‘Pardon me, but are you sure your heart 
had not wandered beyond recall when you went 
to that entertainment, evening before last?’ 

“ ‘Most assuredly,’ I replied, not divining his 
purpose. 


OF io:ntljcky 


143 


‘When yon returned home was your heart 
yet in your own keeping? I saw you had many 
admirers, and discovered you did not enjoy the 
last hours of your stay with the same avidity 
that marked your manner when you first entered 
the rooms; you ceased to dance and seemed a 
little preoccupied with ‘ ‘ some sweet thought. ’ ^ ’ 

“ ‘You deserve much credit for close observ- 
ation and discernment, and are very persistent 
in your effort to penetrate a matter that is of 
no earthly interest to you,’ I replied, somewhat 
passionately. 

“ ‘If you will assure me,’ he said calmly, 
‘in all honesty and truthfulness, that I hold no 
part in your esteem, that you regard me only 
as any other acquaintance of the moment, I 
will never again punish you with my protesta- 
tions of love. Did you know. Miss Carvil, the 
tocsin of war would soon be resounding from 
end to end of our country? That there will soon 
be a call for enlistment to oppose what we feel 
to he despotism? That the flower of all this 
chivalrous sunny land will respond to that call? 
I feel that I shall cast my lot in with these volun- 
teers and march away to the music of fife and 
drum, perhaps to return no more to sunny 
Florida, for life is a precarious atfair in the 
battlefield. ’ 


144 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


^Oh, Mr. Irving, is that trueT I asked in 
alarm. ^Father never tells me anything that is 
likely to disturb my mind, neither will he allow 
others so to do.’ I had moved unwittingly 
nearer him. 

‘Would it cause you one pang of regret 
should I go away and you see me never again?’ 
he asked quietly. 

“ ‘Oh, I cannot, I cannot endure this longer!’ 
I cried. ‘Why do you torture me thus?’ I cov- 
ered my face with my hands in a babyish fash- 
ion, and started on a fresh bout of weeping. 
The first thing I knew he had his arms about me 
and I was shedding my tears on his shoulder. 

“ ‘Do you love me just a little, dearest, and 
will you permit me to claim you as my own? 
Tell me you will be my own lassie, Jean.’ 

“This time he kissed my tears away. 

“ ‘I do not know, I cannot say. Oh, I’m real- 
ly, truly most miserable — no, I mean I’m — ” 
The next moment, like an idiot, I was laughing 
over my silly chatter. I drew myself from his 
embrace and moved from his side, for I heard 
Enid and the girls scampering and laughing 
down the stairway. Enid ran down the stage 
to find Ernest Irving gazing intently at the 
portiere, while I, pretending my tinsel crown 
needed readjustment, which it really did, was 
busily engaged over that. 


OF KENTUCKY 


145 


'Are you, Mr. Irving, like all others, admir- 
ing Jean’s work?’ asked Enid. 

" 'Ah!” said he, "Miss Carvil did not to me 
acknowledge proprietorship of the painting. 
And it is hers, is it?” and before Enid could re- 
ply, he continued, 'I came early for that re- 
hearsal, ’ showing nothing of the embarrassment 
I felt, for I was more miserable and more happy 
than I’d ever been previous to this. Miserable 
at thought of my father’s anger, happy in the 
realization that I was loved by a noble, good 
man. 

"Enid surveyed me critically. I think wo- 
men read each other intuitively. 

" 'Why have not you and Mr. Irving been re- 
hearsing your parts?’ she questioned. 'I thought 
that was why you came down some time ago.’ 

" ' I did not Imow Mr. Irving was here ; neith- 
er did I know he had taken a part in the even- 
ing’s performance,” I returned. 

"She turned her eyes from me to him; he 
answered the look pleasantly. "Miss Carvil 
and I have been exchanging views as to superior 
and inferior art, unfortunately disagreeing. 
You know. Miss Enid, I was once a dauber; be- 
sides, we have been trying to get better ac- 
quainted; you remember we were strangers till 
evening before last. ’ 


146 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


^Yes, I bad forgotten that/ she replied, 
rather reflectively; ^suppose we try those songs 
again.’ Soon after this we proceeded to the 
work of the evening, but I must have performed 
my part poorly, for Enid came to me and asked : 

^ Jean, what is the matter with you! You who 
knew your part so perfectly, are continually 
having to be prompted. I believe you’re falling 
in love with that young divine.’ 

^No! No!’ I vehemently protested, ‘I’m not 
falling in love with that young divine,’ yet I 
might with truth have added, ‘The fall has al- 
ready taken place, and I’m striving to recover 
from the etfects of that violent and altogether 
unexpected descent. ’ 

“I did not recover; in fact, the symptoms 
grew more serious. 

“At the close of the entertainment Ernest 
Irving came to me and asked permission to call 
at my home the next day. I said to him I should 
remain with Enid three days longer. He then 
asked permission to accompany me home, that 
he might obtain my father’s consent to address 
me, for said he, ‘I have been rather premature 
in my advances, and, dearest, I will not take 
blushes and tears as an assurance of your love, 
but just say to me once: “Ernest Irving, I 
love you and will be your wife,” then I shall be 
content till I see your father.’ 


OF KENTUCKY 


147 


‘^Bravely I answered: ‘Mr. Irving, I do love 
yon, and will be your wife or no man’s, and 
I can assure now of your inability to ever win 
my father’s consent to our union. It would be 
useless for you to visit him for that purpose.’ 

“ ‘What are we to do in the event he refuses 
me your hand? Shall we wait till fortune smiles 
more propitiously on our union, or shall we hie 
us away to some Gretna Green? I dare ask his 
permission to claim you; I have no fears since 
assured of your love, and to win his consent is 
the only honorable course to pursue. ’ ’ 

“ ‘Oh, I fear his anger, I fear his wrath,’ I 
replied. ‘He is so determined I shall wed Nor- 
man Ashmead, although I have never given my 
consent to do so, his disappointment, his rage I 
fear more than you can understand.’ 

“I know. Judge Carvil is a very determined 
man, yet I believe I can overcome his objections. 
I will at least make the effort,’ he continued, 
looking over at Norman and Enid who lingered 
chatting. ‘I believe we are attracting the at- 
tention of the loiterers, so adieu till to-morrow. ’ 
“For the remainder of my three days’ stay 
with Enid I was either laughing hysterically 
over the nonsense the girls were talking, for 
there were four of us who remained after the 
play, or I was bathed in tears. These girls 


148 


’MONGST THE HH^LS 


teased me relentlessly about my ^ ^modern 
Plato/ as they were pleased to style Ernest 
Irving. Once Norman, seeking me in the gar- 
den, found me alone shedding foolish tears. I 
was longing for the quietude of my room at 
home, and in apprehensive dread of my father ’s 
anger when he should learn of my love for Ern- 
est Irving. 

^‘The day I was to return home, father called 
for me. He usually drove from his office in the 
city, each afternoon, to our country residence,, 
two miles out, in a light vehicle. On this par- 
ticular afternoon he was in a closed carriage^ 
and with him Norman Ashmead. While Inda 
was being drawn up by Sam, our driver, to a 
seat beside him, Norman assisted me to a seat 
within, and placing himself by my side, he began 
a petty raillery about my new catch. I was an- 
noyed and embarrassed at this, and turned my 
face, which I felt reddening, absolutely from 
him. Father, who sat opposite, observed this^ 
and turned an inquiring look on me. 

‘Of whom are you speaking, Norman P he- 
asked. 

“ ‘Of that young Adonis of a Methodist 
preacher, Ernest Irving,^ he replied. ‘He is sa 
interested in ascertaining Jean’s spiritual 
status, he has monopolized considerably more 
of the time she spent with Enid than was neces- 


OF KENTUCKY 


149 


sary. We knights must look to our laurels 
when Irving presents himself.’ 

‘‘I uttered not a word, but looked from the 
carriage window at the lovely landscape, the 
lingering rays of the setting sun was glorifying. 

“ ‘And has my daughter led captive the poor 
little parson?’ asked my father, jestingly. 

“ ‘I disclaim all intention of holding him an 
unwilling captive,’ I replied with asperity. ‘As 
to his poverty, I think we might call one a rich 
man, possessing as he does, a wealth of knowl- 
edge, not easily acquired only by a mind pre- 
eminently superior to common mortals. As to 
avoirdupois, I think he and Norman equally bal- 
anced. And perhaps, father, when he attains 
your age and dignity, he may also have attained 
your bulky proportions. ’ 

“ ‘Humph!’ was all the reply father deigned. 

“ ‘You are right, Jean,’ said Norman, ‘in 
your estimate of Irving’s size. He spent a few 
days with me last week on my plantation. One 
afternoon we were out boating, and Hon Pedro, 
the little darkey who insists on following me on 
every excursion I make over my estate, had in- 
stalled himself in our boat before we reached 
it. After we had launched into deep water, Don 
inadvertently turned a summersault over the 
edge of the boat. Head down he went, out of 


150 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


sight. Before I could interfere, Mr. Irving had 
doffed his coat and was after him. A needless 
move, for I could have rescued the boy without 
going into the water, though Mr. Irving was not 
acquainted with this fact. We returned home 
and I supplied him with dry apparel, which 
fitted as though mude for him. I met him first 
in Atlanta, where he receives a thousand dollars 
per year for his pastoral care of a church. He 
intends going to Europe next year. A noble 
young man I consider him.’ 

^‘Down in the depths of my heart I thanked 
Norman for these kind words. On reaching 
home father insisted he should remain over 
night with us, which he was not averse to doing. 
Living on adjacent plantations, Norman and I 
had known each other from infancy, and it 
seemed strange and unnatural that I should not 
have conceived the affection for him he claimed 
to have always possessed for me. He was hand- 
some, courteous and generous to a fault, and 
had received a liberal education. From child- 
hood he had entered into all my likes and dis- 
likes with a readiness that was not altogether 
pleasing to me at times, yielding to my whims 
and caprices in a way that would have been grat- 
ifying to most girls, yet this seemed not to in- 
spire the love Norman meant it should; and it 
was always ‘No, Norman, I love you only as a 


OF KENTUCKY 


151 


friend — a brother.’ Sometimes he would say, 
‘Hang the brother and butcher the friend, I 
mean to remove the two some sweet day.’ He 
was always patient and kind, but I felt now I 
must give him a rebuff that would check any 
other advances.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


MISS JEAN^S STORY, INTERSPERSED WITH A FEW 
ITEMS FROM INDA^S EXPERIENCE. 

‘‘After supper, father withdrew to the li- 
brary, ostensibly to write letters. I knew it was 
to give Norman a chance to renew his offer and 
to tell me for the hundredth time of his love. 
When father had gone, Norman and I were left 
alone, except for Inda, flitting in and out, with 
some pretext for so doing. Inda was an incor- 
rigible eavesdropper, a habit I could never cure 
her of. ^ ’ 

Here Miss Jean looked at Inda with a faint 
smile. 

“But I done got over dat long er go, honey,’’ 
said Inda. “I had mighty powerful good rea- 
sons for lis’nen’ dat time, fur you see Mrs Nor- 
man’s George was makin’ up to me, an’ didn’t 
under s tan’ zactly how ter talk, an’ me jes a 
honin’ for him to court me like Mars Norman 
did Miss Jean, an’ I lowed ef I could ketch on 
to some few words er Mars Norman’s, I could 
teach George de right mesods er love makin’, 
for Mars Norman he jes up to de business, prac- 


OF KENTUCKY 


15a 


ticed fur ten year, courtin' Miss Jean," and 
Inda tee-lieed, I suppose, just as she did when a 
girl of sixteen. 

‘‘But I did git out dat room," she continued. 
'‘I got jes as fur as de key-hole on de outside 
dat big do', an' I hear sumpin but not zacly 
what I want to, but I low at de time, I make it 
answer my pupus. Den I hears mammy rattlin' 
de keys and lockin' up, an' she holler out to me : 
^Indy, clar up dem supper dishes an' come er 
long, dars gwine be er dance to our quarters 
ter night.' I ans'ers back, ‘Yes'm,' way off 
from dat key-hole." Another tee-hee. 

“Norman," continued Miss Jean, “reiterated 
almost the same words of Ernest concerning 
the pending warfare, into which we were soon 
after precipitated. ‘And, Jean,' said he, “if 
you could vouchsafe me some assurance of your 
love, I could go forth to battle with more cour- 
age, more fortitude. Like knight of old, wear- 
ing his ladies' favors, I should fight more vali- 
antly for our rights and the preservation of our 
homes, remembering the smile and the love 
awaiting me when I should return a conquering 
hero.' 

“ ‘Oh, Norman,' I replied, ‘you know I never 
admired a battlefield hero, and I tremble and 
shrink at thought of what might, what will oc- 
cur should our fair land be invaded by a re- 


154 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


lentless foe, such as the North is likely to prove. 
And, Norman, must I repeat, I love you as a 
brother, 'as a dear friend, nothing more/ 

‘‘ ^The friend and brother be hanged on the 
same gibbet,’ he said irritably, whereupon I 
again, as on a previous evening, put my hands 
over my face and burst into tears. I had never 
yielded so lamentably to tears 'as of late, but it 
seemed I’d gone at it in a methodical way. The 
most trivial matter would cause my tears to 
start. I was not happy. Since my dear moth- 
er’s death nothing had come my way of a very 
grievous or tear-producing nature. Father had 
watched over Paul and me with such unrelent- 
ing care that all disturbing influences had been 
withheld. But here was Norman, a dear friend,, 
pleading for the love I could not give, a vivid 
prospect of our happy land being involved in 
warfare; but what gave me most pain was the 
thought of Ernest’s visit to father on the mor- 
row, for he was persistent in knowing the state 
of father’s mind. 

^Jean,’ said Norman, forcibly drawing my 
hands from my face, ^you’re not the girl you 
were a fortnight ago. You, so vivacious, so gay, 
what has come over you? This is twice I have 
found you in tears of late, what does it mean? 
Tell me, Jean, tell me truly, what your trouble 
is. Like Enid, I believe you’ve let your heart 


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155 ^ 


stray parsonward; I at least have feared this 
since the first evening I saw you two together. * 
He rose and walked from end to end of the room,, 
at last resuming his seat by my side. 

‘ H do not/ said he, ^ask for further confirm- 
ation of my fears than your silence. But, oh, 
dearest, how can I resign you to another ? How 
can I give you up! I have cherished the thought 
so long, so long, of one day claiming you as my 
own, and now to surrender that hope seems im- 
possible.’’ 

^Norman, you surely hold me blameless. 
Have I ever encouraged you in entertaining 
such thoughts! You certainly do not condemn 
me for something of which I am guiltless!” I 
returned. 

H wish you had encouraged me,’ he replied, . 
^then I should have some foundation for my 
persistent folly.’ 

Again the walking was resumed. At last, I 
rose from my chair and together we promenaded 
that floor for an hour, with my hand clasped 
tightly in that of my faithful friend, dear Nor- 
man. I never found a truer, more faithful 
friend in all the after years of sorrow 'and dis- 
tress with which I was o ’erwhelmed. 

^^As we walked, I told him all. Of Ernest’s, 
love, and of my own futile effort to combat the 
affection I found engrossing my entire mind. 


156 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Through the whole of my eonfession he was 
sympathetic and forgiving. Once he asked per- 
mission to light a cigar, which was readily 
granted. 

^‘Said he: ‘I will not remain over night, as 
ngreed upon, but walk home across the planta- 
tions.’ He raised the heavy blinds, looking out. 

See, the moon is beaming, the stars are gleam- 
ing, and invites us to a further stroll. Come 
with me as far as the terrace, Jean.’ 

‘‘I threw a light covering over my head and 
we went out in the moonlight and the star-gleam, 
and though nearing mid-winter, the air was 
scented with the fragrance of flowers. 

^^As we passed into the hall, before going 
from the rooms, I heard in advance of us a 
scampering, and knew Inda had been at her old 
practices. She had circled hastily through the 
rooms and reached the veranda in advance of 

TIS. 

‘‘ ‘Oh, Miss Jean!’ she called, ‘can I go to the 
quarters to-night? Mammy say dey’s goin’ to 
dance.’ ” 

“I ’members it all,” said Inda, laughing im- 
moderately. 

“The dance,” resumed Miss Jean, “at one or 
the other quarters each week was something 
that appealed to the hearts of the darkies. From 
adjoining quarters they would gather in and 


OF KENTUCKY 


15T 


trip the light fantastic toe to the music of fiddle 
and banjo till the hour of ten warned them te 
disperse, each one carrying his pass or permit. 

^‘Yes, honey, remarked Aunt Inda, recover- 
ing from an obstinate spasm of te-hees, brought 
about at recollection of that particular dance,, 
^/yes, I ^members dat same moon-shiney night; 
it is deflected most ^stinctly on my mind, te-he- 
he, dat was de ve’y night, wid my help, what 
George pluck up courage to ax me, an’ I gwine 
tell you how ’twas, for Miss Jean she done talk 
nuf for dis time. Well, de dance hit begin and 
I dance fust wid Bob Stanton, den wi’ Jim Ash- 
mead, den Bob ergin, den some udder coon. I 
gun to git skeerd feard George not gwine to ax 
me dance wi’ him ’tall. I been keepin’ one eye 
on ’im, ’ ’ and Aunt Inda rolled her eyes over her 
left shoulder as though she still had George 
under strict surveillance. George, he set right 
still all dar by hiss’ef, and pear like he feard 
of sumpin. His eyes was bigger then than they 
is now; he was pop-eyed nigger; seem lak ef 
you tap ’im hard on back de haid his eyes drap 
out, dey bulge out like er frog’s; but he power- 
ful han’some, I thought. So at de win’ up of 
de kerdrill I was dancin’ I shied round and 
flopped down right close to George and fan my- 
se’f mighty fierce. Then I look at Bob as was 
stan’in’ by my cher, an’ I say: H feels lak ef 


158 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


I had er cool drink of water I’d moderate.’ Up 
George hops and oil he puts. The Lord a marsy, 
I thinks, the fool nigger done run otf when I was 
hopin’ Boh would go for de water an’ leave me 
an’ George settin’ dar close togeder. In er 
minit George he done returns back wi’ a goa’d 
er water. Bob he try to take de goa’d an’ 
’tween ’em dey spills ’bout half de water on dat 
pink silk dress Miss Jean han’ over to me. I 
turn on Bob fierce as er viper. ‘Bob Stanton,’ 
I say, ‘you clar out fum here, you cornfoundered 
nigger; you done ruin dis pink silk custoom, 
so ’twont be fitten to pack insides er bar in!’ 
Bob he took out peert ’nuf when he see de look 
in my eye. Then I turns to George mighty mild 
an’ says: ‘George, you look kinder lonesome 
and oticast and disperitable settin’ roun’ here 
^wastin’ your sweetness on de dress your hair.’ 
I hear Miss Jean say dat onct, an’ I keep it in 
mind twell I need it. George he ’low, puttin’ 
his hand to his haid, ‘Indy, I didn’t have no time 
to dress my hair, ’cause I has to look after 
things; Mars Norman he been gone four, five 
days.’ ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘Mars Norman up de house 
long wi’ Miss Jean, and he pintedly makin’ love 
to dat Miss Jean jes’ er bout de way men folks 
ought to do, when deys got er sweetheart dey 
keers fur. He jes take Miss Jean by de ban’ an’ 
he press dat little han’ to his lips.’ You mus’ 


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159 


understand I was makin’ dis for Greorge’s bene- 
fits an’ discouragement, be dat bashful. I goes 
on and I ‘Mars Norman he hold dat little 
hand, and den presently he sneak his arm 
dround Miss Jean and ^^pg loves none 

but her, and p^gg right in de mouf. Dat 

clinch de bargain dtween dem, and gwine 
marry soonds she git her trousers made.d 

^ Golly, gal,d say George, clampind down on 
my hand ^hat lay convenient, ‘I dlowed it took 
consider ’ble of talk and — George,’ 
I say, ^ white folks dey knows best, an’ ^ words 
deys cheap,’ I hear Mars John say onct, an’ Miss 
Jean she don’t investigate in cheap goods, an’ 
George, you know, when he gits dat arm ’roun’ 
’er, she knows he loves ’er ’thout er nuther 
word.’ I feel George’s arm inchin ’ by inch git- 
tin’ ’roun’ me, an’ he say, ‘Indy, does you 
un’nerstan’ I loves you, an’ wants you to marry 
me!’ 

“ ‘Yes, George,’ I say, ‘an’ some day, like 
as not. I’ll marry you. Yonners Bob Stanton 
an’ mammy bofe lookin’ at you.’ 

“ ‘Indy,’ he say all at onct, bol’ as brass, ‘I 
don’t keer who in thunder’s lookin’, ef you 
don’t.’ 

“ ‘I shoo do loves you, George,’ I say; ‘now 
less dance.’ 


160 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


^‘And George lie de livelyest nigger on dat 
gronn’, cuttin’ np all sorter explites. 

‘Alammy she comes ’ronn’ after de dance 
over; she say, ‘George Ashmeaed, what you 
mean ’bracin’ Indy for, I wanter know, and 
dat mighty quick too. ’ 

“George up sassy-like and say, ‘I means to 
’brace ’er more’n dat, you ’low us ter marry.’ 

“Mammy kinder smilin’ say: ‘You git out 
fum here, you fool nigger, git home fo’ de patter 
roller cut de blood out your black hide; I hope 
he ketch you dis night.’ An’ mammy th’ow ’er 
haid back an’ laugh fit to split her ribs, she dat 
tickled, thinkin’ me and George and Miss Jean 
and Mars Norman gwine mix de famblys. But 
I feels powerful bad ’bout dat lie I tole George, 
an’ I ’low to straighten it up de very nex’ night, 
he done tole me he cornin’; but bless de Lord, 
me an’ Miss Jean bof prisoners in de loom 
house de very nex’ night, when I hear George 
come singin’ ‘Jolly roily ran so he cross de 
fields.’ When he git nigh ernuf to hear, I stick 
my mouf to er hole in de wall where de chinkin’ 
done fell out, an’ I call : ‘Oh, George !’ He stop 
still as er mountain, an’ I say, ‘Come here to de 
loom house, George.’ I awful feard dat nigger 
run, thinkin’ I was a ghos’, but he say, ‘Dat you. 
Indy?’ ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘dat me.’ Then he come 
up an’ he say, ‘^V^at you doin’ in de loom 


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161 


house dis late?^ An^ I says, ‘Mars John got mad 
and slap me an’ Miss Jean hof in here an’ ain’t 
gwine let ns out no more. You run home, George, 
an’ tell Mars Norman.’ 

“George he say, ‘I let you out.’ He try de 
do’ fas’, den de winder, fas’, all fas’ and tight. 

“ ‘Indy,’ George say, ‘what you and Miss 
J ean been done ? ’ 

“ ‘ ’Cause,’ I say, ‘Miss Jean love er preacher 
and wanter mar’ him, and I loves you and wan- 
ter mar’ you, an’ Mars John won’t low us.’ 

“ ‘Indy,’ says George, ‘’taint no sich thing; 
I went by de house las’ night, fo’ I start home 
an’ ax Mars John for you; he say yes, an’ ef I 
don’t treats you right he gwine git my hide and 
tallow bof. An’ Indy, what dat you tell me last 
night ’bout Mars Norman and Miss Jeanr 

“ ‘Oh, George,’ I ’low, ’bout half cryin’, ‘dat 
er lie; I make it ever bit, but, George, I tell 
you sometimes if ever I git out fum here, what 
make I do it. ’ 

“Miss Jean never open her mouf, twell she 
say, ‘George, don’t you tell Norman nor no- 
body-yels ; you jes come back and bring me er 
pen an’ ink an’ paper, now run home fas’ as 
you kin.’ 

“ ‘George!’ I hollers out fru de chinkin’, ‘I 
feard to stay in here, dese piles er cotton look 
jes like ghoses, an’ I feared of ’em. George!’ 


162 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


I hollers still louder and crying ^ ^come back 
here!’ But George he done gone, g-o-n-e. Den 
I wipe my eyes an’ sot down on de loom bench, 
an’ I take Miss Jean’s haid on my lap an’ I 
watch dem loops and piles er cotton ; de more I 
look de bigger dey grow, an’ dey looks jes awful, 
a-w-f-u-1, ready ter grab me, an’ I say, ‘Miss 
Jean, I never ’spect ter tell er nuther lie long 
as I lives, an’ I ner ’spec’s ter lis’en fru de key 
holes, an’ I never ’spec’s to stick my ban’ in 
de sugar bowl, nor fork out de sweet pickles nor 
de merserves when mammy not er lookin’ at me, 
an’ if you lives th’u’ this trial an’ triberlation 
and comes out in er whole piece, I wan’ you ter 
tell mammy what I says, fur I never ’spec’s ter 
see daylight ergin in dis world. An’ tell George 
to be good an’ not go sneakin’ ’roun’ fur de 
patter-roller ter git ’im an’ ter meet me — meet 
me — Miss Jean, I clar I don’t know whar ter 
tell you ter tell George ter meet me, ’cause I 
feels lak I dun no whar I’ll be when I pulls up 
on yuther side, but tell ’im meet me wharever 
that is, fur I couldn’t git long ’thout George, 
even ef de debil git us bof.’ Den I cry right 
smart outer one eye, I got t’other pin’ tight to 
dem cotton piles. Ever once an’ whiles I say, 
‘Miss Jean, Miss Jean,’ an’ she say back, ‘I 
here, Inder, wid my haid on your lap. Presen ’ly 
I go fas’ ter sleep, an’ de moon hit move erlong 


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163 


twell it strike de wes’ winder, an’ de rays 
<;oniin’ thu’ the cracks of de windershetter, fell 
right ercross my face, an’ I dream it was de 
biggest ghos’ in de lot tearin’ my ver’ eyes out 
by de roots, an’ I scream out, an’ dar I was been 
fas’ ersleep wi’ my haid on Miss Jean’s lap. 
She jes er laughin’ at me. Dat Miss Jean, she 
not feard of nuthin’, she not mad no more 
neither, she done storm it all out in the day- 
time, breakin’ winders an’ talkin’ sass to her 
par. I never see her do sich things befo’, an’ 
I thought it must be sumpin’ awful to want er 
mar’ er preacher an’ not be ’lowed to. Mars 
John he didn’t sleep none neither, mammy say, 
he walk dat floor all night. Mammy and Sam 
they stay to the house an’ set in the dinin’ room 
wide er wake, whisperin’ to one er nuther, fur 
every feared er Mars John when’er a mad 
spell catch ’im.” 

^‘Poor dear father,” said Miss Jean, resum- 
ing her story; ^Jie was was so angry, so 
wrought up, when Ernest came and informed 
him for what purpose. For some time after 
Earnest had gone I was alarmed for the safety 
of every one. will see you in your coffin 
willingly,’ he said, ‘before I will permit you to 
marry him, the presumptive, poverty-struck 
pulpit ranter.” 


164 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘ ‘ ^ Patlier, ^ I interrupted, while the hot Souths 
ern blood was beginning to seethe in my veins,. 
‘Ernest Irving is none of these, and I defy 
you; I will leave this shelter, never to return,, 
if you utter another word to his defamation.’ 

“Heeding not my words, but pacing the floor 
back and forth, he continued, ‘I will disown you E 
I will disinherit you if you persist in seeing that, 
man again. I will lock you up in this room and 
hold you here till you are willing to receive my 
advice.’ With each turn on the floor he seemed 
to grow more furious. 

“ ‘Love laughs at locksmiths,’ I said, with 
a rebellious ha! ha! while my brain whirled 
with the angry blood coursing through it. I 
caught up a foot-stool and sent it crashing 
through the long French window that opened 
on the veranda. I laughed idiotically, seeing 
Inda who was at her old game, dodge the foot- 
stool, which move brought her to our view. 

“Father was startled by this sudden action 
of mine, hut in a moment he recovered. With 
anger more violent, he caught me by the wrist,, 
drew me from the room, down the gallery, out 
at the rear of the house and on down to the 
buildings used for spinning and weaving, which 
did not possess the advantage of window lights,, 
but instead there were barred shutters. Inda 
came weeping on behind us, and on reaching the 


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165 


loom house door he thrust us both in. The 
click of the spring lock brought us to a realiza- 
tion of the truth, that we were prisoners. I 
heard father go into the adjoining room, and the 
next instant he was nailing the window shutters. 

‘‘My sensations were no longer those of ex- 
cessive passion, my anger was transitory. I 
was accustomed to father’s outbursts of temper, 
but I believed he loved me too well to be long 
resentful, the more violent the storm raging in 
his bosom the sooner it would be over, so I was 
confident of again seeing Ernest Irving, and 
the thought of his love made me very happy. 
Hope is buoyant at eighteen or nineteen. 

“At dawn, George was back with writing ma- 
terial. Said he’d taken them from Norman’s 
desk, and if I did not wish Norman to know, 
I must return them in the evening. “Very 
well,’ I returned, ‘you come at night fall.’ 

“ ‘Indy!’ George called, ‘you here yitU 

“ ‘Yes, I here yit, but it er mirackle I is here; 
I mig'ht nigh scart out er my hide, and so hon- 
gry I ready to eat my own head off.’ 

“ ‘Well, Indy,’ continued George, ‘I wanter 
say to you. Mars Norman ’lows we can marry 
whenever we gits ready ; I got him put it down 
in white an’ black. And, say. Indy, I got er 
notion in my head we’ll marry like white folks, 
bein’ as we done de courtin’ dat er way. I don’ 


166 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


want no nigger preacher marry in’ ns. What 
you thinks ’bout it, Miss Jean?’ 

replied I thought well of his idea. 

<< ‘Write it down and pass it out th’ough the 
chinkin’.’ 

‘ ^ It was too dark to comply with this request^ 
so I bade him return in the evening, as I sup-^ 
posed he ’d find us there for a month to come. 

‘‘ ^Oh Lordy!’ yelped Inda, ‘I die forty times- 
ever’ night I live, ef I have stay here dat long! 
Oh Lordy mussy!’ 

^Hush, Indy,’ said George. ‘De white 
preacher done promise me he harness me up 
when uver I come to him. He stay over to our 
plantation some an’ I keep his boots dat slick 
er fly feard to light on ’em, feard he slick up 
and broke his neck; an’ Mars Erns’ Irvings, he 
say, You’s kind boy, George, here some money 
and when you gits ready to wear the matter-^ 
mony yoke, I harness you in free of cost.”* 
‘‘Thanky, Mars,” I say, ‘I sho’ pintedly not 
forgit it.’ And, Indy, you git yourse’f ready; 
I ain’ gwine have no foolin’ ’bout dis bizness, 
and I wishes you bof mighty well, caze I goter 
hike out fum here, ’fo’ dey mises me and makes 
quirations ’bout whar Ise been at.’ The next 
instant George was gone. 

‘‘Pretty soon after this. Mammy Alice, wha 
was Inda’s mother, and the housekeeper also^ 


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167 


came with the key to give us our liberty; be- 
sides, breakfast was awaiting me and father 
wished to see me before leaving for the city. 

‘‘Present my compliments to father and tell 
him I prefer to remain in the loom-house,’ I 
said to her. Inda had already escaped. 

“ ‘Miss Jean, honey, you better come on to 
de house; you’ paw, he done got over his tan- 
trums; you jes’ come right long er me; I done 
got you de bes’ breakfas’ you ever tas’e,’ im- 
plored Aunt Alice. 

“ ‘No, mammy, I can’t go, though I thank 
you for the kind thought about my breakfast. 
Lock the door and go away.’ 

“I tells you,” said Inda, “that ar was er try- 
in’ time, for when Miss Jean say she gwine do 
things, she do ’em. Came by her hard head 
mighty hones’, too, -an’ I feels lak I mus’n’ leave 
her in dat loom-house, long er dem cotton banks, 
an’ I jes’ honin’ ter be free, so I let otf to cryin’ 
and Mammy she jined in, and we had er camp- 
meetin’ time for some little whiles. Miss Jean 
she say, ‘Go ’long. Indy, and bring me some 
breakfas’ an’ de book I been readin.’ ” 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE PAETING. 

‘H was indeed glad to be rid of Inda and her 
superstitious mutterings at that time, but a 
sorry plight I should be in now but for her; be- 
sides, I was anxious to write Ernest. I knew 
father had been unkind to him, perhaps rude, 
harsh and impolite, and I longed to mitigate any 
pain father might have caused by showing my 
absolute trust in him, as far as any words of 
mine would suffice. 

‘‘After partaking of the dainty breakfast 
Mammy Alice sent me, I set myself assiduously 
to work on my letter, but was interrupted by 
hearing footsteps approaching. Father came 
'and without comment locked me snugly in again 
and departed. I took my unfinished letter from 
its hiding-place and completed my message. 
Then I drew one of the large bags of cotton to 
the opening in the wall, lay down upon it and 
gave my 'attention to the book Inda brought me, 
but I soon fell asleep, for the previous night’s 
vigil had made me slumberous. I was awakened 


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169 


by the approach of Mammy Alice bringing my 
noon meal. Father had the key, so I was 
forced to receive my repast through the open- 
ing in the wall. I found my favorite viands on 
the tray and thanked mammy for her kindness. 

‘Honey,’ she said, while her voice trembled 
with the emotion at work in her loving old heart 
‘I loves you like I does my own chillun, an’ I 
never gwine forgit dat promise I make your 
own mammy when she dyin ’, to take care of you, 
long as any href in my body. I done foun’ out 
what Mars John lock you up fur, but not know- 
in ’all de circumstance, I don’t know how to ’vise 
you, yet I prays de Lord in glory hit all come 
out right. Ef you wants me to, I set right down 
her on dis do’ step an’ stay twell time to make 
de supper. Paul and Mr. Percy done gone off 
ter town long er Mars J ohn. ’ 

“Percy St. Leon was a lad father had em- 
ployed to teach Paul, being a son of an old 
friend. 

“ ‘No, no, mammy,’ said I, ‘you return to the 
house and quiet your dear, kind old heart. 
Father will soon outlive his anger, then all will 
be well, ’ I consolingly returned. But I was not 
to be left in quiet, for the loom-house was be- 
seiged all that afternoon, when the little chil- 
dren down at the quarters became cogniz?ant of 
the fact that I was within. I had to coax, per- 


170 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


suade and finally resort to scolding ere I could 
rid myself of their presence. 

awaited George’s coming, but not alone^ 
for Inda sat on the door-step outside. He was 
promptly on hand at an early hour, and with my 
letter I gave him my written consent to Inda’s 
hand. 

^Miss Jean,’ said he, H gwine take dis let- 
ter, an’ I dodge de patter-roller ef I can; ef I 
can’t, I got dis old pass Mars’ Norman gi’me 
las’ week in case I needs one.’ 

‘‘Then there was a low murmured conversa- 
tion outside. Soon Inda called to me: 

“ ‘Miss Jean, can’t I go erlong er George,, 
pleease um?’ 

“ ‘I can’t see to write you a permit,’ I re- 
turned. 

“ ‘Yes’m you kin,’ she pleaded; ‘scratch it 
down whar I punch de chinkin’ out.’ 

“I complied with her request and they left 
me alone once more. 

“After that little unpleasantness at Harper’s 
Ferry, each man and woman belonging to a 
plantation carried a permit from his or her 
owner. 

“I expected father momentarily to come and 
release me. When he did not, I felt his anger 
had not abated, so I remained quietly on my 
improvised couch and watched the moonbeams 


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171 


falling in parallel lines across the floor, and 
listened to the ever-wakeful mocking bird chant- 
ing his evening lay. 

‘‘I cannot say that I was supremely happy 
yet I was not unhappy, for after ten o’clock I 
expected George and Inda’s return at any mo- 
ment. At midnight they came, bringing me a 
communication from Ernest, informing me 
they had returned as man and wife, thrusting 
through the crevice in the wall with Ernest’s 
letter their marriage certificate. 

‘Miss Jean,’ said Inda rather dolefully, ‘I 
didn’t want er marry so quick, but George he- 
’low ef I didn’t marry him dis night I wouldn’t 
never git de chance ergin ; that he done made all 
the derangements, an’ ’twas now or never. But 
I hope de Lord forgive me for gittin’ mar’ed in 
dis old blue shambly dress you gi’ me. George 
he walk up so peart I done tore de trail might 
nigh clean off.’ 

“ ‘Inda,” I replied encouragingly, ‘I’m sure 
if you try to make George a good, faithful wife,, 
the Lord will overlook any deficiency in your 
bridal attire.’ 

“I insisted on George carrying Inda to the 
quarter, as they both were inclined to sit on. 
the door-step and bear me company through 
the remainder of the night. After he had dom- 
iciled his bride, he went home singing through 


1Y2 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


the fields in la more joyous strain than I had 
-ever heard issue from his capacious mouth be- 
fore. George was truly happy, for Inda had 
hept him in hot water for the last six months 
hy her inclination to fiirt with Bob Stanton. She 
kept me informed as to the situation of affairs, 
hut that trouble was now removed by George ^s 
last precipitate act, while the ghosts were after 
Inda and she felt the need of a supporting 
arm. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Dat am de f ac \ ^ said Aunt Inda, laughing. 
■‘‘It cur ’us how sich things do work, but I never 
seen er ghos’ sence de night I married George.” 

“It was too dark to peruse my missive, so I 
fell asleep with it resting next my heart. I felt 
sure he had advised me in some way, and I knew 
I should be actuated in my after conduct by 
whatever he counseled my doing. 

“ ‘Dearest,’ he wrote, ‘I regret much that I 
have been the means of interrupting the pater- 
nal attitude your father has ever assumed to- 
ward you, and if it is your desire I will with- 
draw my claim on your hand, but I cannot with- 
hold my love. No, dear one, for my heart is 
wholly yours; come life, come death, through 
time, in eternity, it will know no change. Per- 
mit me, love, to advise you. Do nothing further 
to increase your father’s anger. Think of all 
the care and devotion he has bestowed on you. 


OF KENTUCKY 


17 a 


To you he has been father and mother in one^ 
Love him, be patient with him; rather keep 
silent, than make rash promises you are not 
likely to fulfill. Say to him we will not marry 
without his full sanction, which I feel assured 
we will some day have. 

^You possess two loyal friends in George 
and Inda, whom I have just united in marriage, 
but we must find some other avenue than 
through their hands to communicate ;it might 
be the cause of some unpleasantness to you or 
them. 

^Go to your father and tell him you regret 
having caused him pain, and that you love him 
all the more for being so faithful to what he con- 
siders your welfare. And, dear one, I hope the 
heart-ache, the doubts and fears, will give place 
to patience and sweet contentment. Be happy, 
be hopeful; with these words I resign you to 
our Heavenly Father’s care till we meet again, 
which I hope is not far distant. I must say 
adieu.’ 

^^At sunrise father came and unlocked the 
door. I was standing just inside awaiting him. 
When the door opened, I threw my arms about 
his neck and kissed him many times. 

‘^You’re my own precious, loving daughter 
again,” he said, while he held me close to his 
heart in a warm, affectionate embrace. 


174 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


^Yes, father, I am yours until it is your 
pleasure to give me to the man I love, and who 
loves me so well he is not willing to cause me 
the pain it would occasion were I to marry him 
without your full sanction. He will not accent 
me without your approval of our union. ’ 

“ ‘It is well,’ he said, releasing me and assum- 
ing an austere countenance. ‘My daughter,’ he 
continued, ‘you do not know the suffering I 
have undergone since you forced me by your 
conduct to treat you so harshly. That man must 
renounce all claim on your hand. I will not 
countenance further attention from him.’ 

“ ‘He will never do that, since I must release 
him ere he could take such a step,’ I replied, 
smiling up into his face. 

“ ‘Come,’ he said, ‘we will settle this matter 
elsewhere. ’ 

“I clung to his arm and would not release him 
till we reached the dining room, where we found 
Paul and his young tutor seated at table. Paul 
ran to me, kissing me fondly. I was sure he had 
not been informed of my imprisonment from 
his remarks. 

“After breakfast father and I went to the li- 
brary and held a long argument, arriving at the 
same point from which we started. I repeated 
my determination of not giving Ernest up; 


OF KENTUCKY 


175 


yet I averred solemnly I would never marry him 
without father’s consent. 

‘^Not often did we communicate or meet after 
this, hut when we did it was with assurances of 
love, and in looking back I count those hours the 
happiest of my life. 

‘‘In April following these last events, the 
boom of the first gun announcing war was heard 
*at Fort Sumter, and before I was hardly made 
aware of it, we were submerged in a warfare 
that lasted four long, weary, dreary years. 
Every young man of spirit enlisted and marched 
away to the battleground, where many fathers, 
brothers, comrades and loved ones sank into 
nameless graves. Norman, Ernest, Kenneth 
and many others dear to us were the first to en- 
list. 

“Oh! the anguish, the pain, the horror of it 
all, especially the last year of that trying time ! 
The lines — 

“If we knew from the first 
What the years were to bring. 

We would never be able 
To frolic and sing’ — 

recurred to my mind often and often. It is 
wonderful how much the human heart can bear 
and brave and yet not break. In the happy, 
blissful years gone by, when my life was young, 


176 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


when hope was buoyant land my heart light, had 
one hour of this dreadful war-time confronted 
me, suddenly, unannounced, I should have died 
at the appalling spectacle ; but, coming gradual- 
ly, we learned endurance in hoping for a propi- 
tious turn in affairs. 

“Norman went out 'as captain of a company, 
but for daring and valor was soon promoted to 
that of Colonel. Ernest enlisted as a private 
soldier and was made chaplain. It is needless 
to linger over these details; very few now are 
interested in what transpired a quarter of a 
century and more ago. Suffice it to say, Enid 
and I were continually together, that I loved her 
dearly. One could not refrain from loving such 
a sweet, dainty, violet-eyed, rosy-lipped, tender 
souled darling as Enid Stanton. Having no sis- 
ter, I bestowed my hearths affection on this gen- 
tle girl, which affection was returned in all sin- 
cerity. 

“When Thanksgiving and the holidays were 
near, many kind remembrances were sent to 
loved ones. Box after box of edible dainties 
were forwarded to the bivouacked boys in grey. 
There was one very noticeable fact in Enid’s 
conduct — Norman got the lion’s share in each 
box sent from her hands; 'and she so often in 
our confidences dwelt upon the pleasing fact 
of Ernest and I being lovers. Gradually it 



“I do not know/' he said with a prolonged sigh, 
“people view things in a different light on a sick 
bed"— Page 181 




■i- 



OF KENTUCKY 


177 


dawned upon me that Enid held Norman 
shrined in her heart as the most perfect of all 
human beings, in truth, she loved him to idol- 
atry. 

‘‘In the last months of the war, our forces 
were being concentrated at Richmond, Virginia, 
for a final struggle, when Ernest fell sick and 
Norman Yivote me to hasten to that city. Father 
had shouldered his gun and gone to the battle- 
field when the emancipation of slavery was de- 
clared, therefore I had no one in particular to 
advise or interfere with my movements. Paul 
and I were with the Stantons at the time, and I 
prepared to leave for Richmond at once. Ern- 
est had often written me, but had never once 
mentioned the fact of his lingering illness, the 
result of exposure, while suffering from meas- 
els. When I reached his bedside I was shocked 
to find him so near death ^s door, living only 
two days after my arrival. Putting my head 
down on the pillow near his face, I wept dis- 
consolately for a long, long while. 

“ ‘Oh, Ernest,’ I cried, ‘why did you not 
write me you were ill! so ill?’ 

“ ‘Because, dearest,’ he replied with diffi- 
culty, ‘I hoped for recovery, and I did not wish 
to add to your sorrows. I know you were dis- 
tressed over the absence of your father, not 
knowing what might befall him, and I refrained 


178 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


from writing my true condition, till my physi- 
cian, when pressed for the truth, informed me I 
had but a few hours to live. Forgive me, my 
Jean.’ 

‘‘ ^Oh, my love!’ I cried in bitterness and an- 
guish of heart, ‘how can I bear this parting? 
Dear Ernest, why can I not die with you? Dear 
Lord, let him live, or let my life go out with his ! 
Death holds no terrors; life will be nothing to 
me when he is gone ; do not, dear Lord, treat me 
so cruelly — let me die.’ 

“My wailings filled the whole house. He 
strove to soothe my anguish in his kind, loving 
way, but I was disconsolate. 

“ ‘Dearest,’ he said, ‘when the end comes 
and we must say good-bye, do not upbraid death, 
but know in that land beyond the valley and 
shadow I shall find a place of sweet rest, and 
await in God’s presence the moment wherein 
we shall be reunited. We shall there know no 
more pain, no more suffering, no more pangs at 
parting, the tears all be dried from our eyes. 
My love, be strong to do the right, be humble, 
be meek and follow in the footsteps of Jesus. 
Head this Bible I leave you and follow its teach- 
ings. Lean always to influences of goodness 
and truth, learn to forgive; visit the sick and 
distressed, relieve want and oppression, lead 
the wandering feet into paths of peace and holi- 


OF KENTUCKY 


179 


ness, and when this hitter strife is over, if Nor- 
man’s life be spared and you could learn to love 
him, I resign you to him, for he is a brave, noble 
man, a valiant soldier. You will need a protect- 
or, so will Paul. Our sunny land is o’ershad- 
owed by dark, lowering clouds, and should your 
father escape death on the battlefield, I fear he 
will not long survive thereafter, for, brave, dar- 
ing man that he is now, when this bloody conflict 
shall have ended, with his cherished plans and 
hopes crushed, his beautiful home perhaps laid 
in ashes, his slaves scattered, their homes deso- 
lated, there will be nothing left but you and 
Paul, for he has sacrificed all of the means he 
had set apart for that rainy day” we hear 
spoken of so often. And, dear Jean, if you could 
learn to love Norman — ” 

‘^Oh, Ernest!” I pleaded, spare me; I can 
not bear to hear you speak thus. I shall never 
love another, neither will I wed. I would will- 
ingly die with you were that possible, but do 
not ask of me an impossible thing,’ my tears 
still falling. 

‘‘He continued talking in this strain till the 
dear lips that were wont to smile and speak only 
kind words were cold, dead and dumb, the loving 
heart stilled by death’s icy touch, the eyelids 
<?losed forever. 


180 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘‘Should you ever visit Eichmond Cemetery 
you may find this engraved on a simple white 
slab: 

“Ernest Irving, 

“ ‘Born 1839. Died 1864. 

“ ‘Asleep in Jesus.’ 

“Bitter, bitter memories pass in sad review 
before my vision, yet it is needless to dwell 
upon the horrors of the closing weeks of the war. 
I tarried in Eichmond after Ernest died, the 
few remaining weeks of the close of this bitter 
struggle and surrender, nursing the sick and 
wounded soldiers. I sent for Paul and kept him 
near me. He was a bright, impulsive boy, with, 
our mother’s beauty land father’s fiery temper,, 
which ofttimes I found impossible to control. 

“One day father was sent in from the front 
with a mangled shoulder. How thankful I was 
that I had remained in the hospital. I was be- 
coming so inured to the sight of the sick and 
wounded that the poignancy of the shock over 
father’s condition was rendered less disturbing 
to me; yet I was tortured at thought of losing' 
him, till assured by a capable surgeon that his 
wound was not a serious one. I watched by his 
bedside day and night till the delirium accom- 
panying the fever abated. 


OF KENTUCKY 


181 


‘‘One day he said to me : ‘Jean, my daughter, 
I regret I did not consent to yonr marriage with 
Ernest Irving. Should I not recover, you will 
hiave no one to care for you. I wish you could 
think more kindly of Norman.’ 

“It was torture to me to have him speak thus, 
and I thought perhaps he had not been told of 
Ernest’s death. 

“ ‘Oh, father!’ I cried, ‘did you not know 
Ernest was dead?’ 

“ ‘Yes, yes,’ he replied slowly, ‘but perhaps 
he would not have joined in this struggle had 
you married him; yet there is Norman.’ 

“ ‘Father,’ said I, vehemently, ‘do not men- 
tion this to me again, I will have you and Paul ; 
1 desire no other.’ 

“ ‘I do not know,’ he said, with a prolonged 
sigh. ‘People view things in a different light 
on a sick bed. I think our cause is doomed; I 
see only trouble 'and disaster ahead. Perhaps 
we shall be driven from our homes ; there is as 
much justice in that as in depriving us of our 
slaves, and, my daughter, I feel were I to re- 
cover from this wound I could not long survive 
the trouble that awaits us, and I should like 
while I have time to write my will. I have lands 
in Kentucky as well as Florida, which I wish to 
secure to you and Paul, should your home in 


182 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Florida be taken from you. Some day bring me 
writing material and I will do wbat I can.’ 

He was so persistent, that to gratify him,, 
I complied with bis request. 

^‘Everything in the way of lands and homes 
he divided equally between Paul and me, with 
the understanding that Mammy Alice, her hus- 
band Sam, her children and her old mother,, 
were to have a home, so long as they desired it, 
on the lands given to Paul and me, so long as 
we owned said property with enough tillable 
land to secure them a competency in the way 
of a livelihood. To all the old servants with, 
families he left some token of remembrance. 

“Had not father in his wisdom made such 
provision for Mammy Alice and her offspring^ 
I should have been left destitute of the care and 
attention to which I had always been accus- 
tomed, for Mammy Alice and her children have 
practically had the care of me since the war, and 
I have ever felt that I was only a burden on 
their kind hearts.” 

“No! No! Miss Jean, honey,” said Inda^ 
while the tears were falling; “you’s never been 
no burden to us niggers ; you’s been a great he’p 
to us. We didn’t want no freedom ef it tuck 
you fum us ; it broke our hearts long ago to lose 
you. ’ ’ 


OF KENTUCKY 


183 


After this outburst of Inda’s, Miss Jean went 
on with her story. 

Father never recovered; he lingered a few 
months after the war, then closed his eyes on 
earth’s trials and sorrows. One day, just before 
he left us, he placed my hand in Norman’s, for 
Norman was spared to us, but Kenneth, poor 
hoy, was slain, falling with his face to the foe. 
Placing my hand in Norman’s, he begged him 
to watch over Paul and me, a promise he faith- 
fully kept while we lived near him. He asked 
me once again after father died to marry him. 
I had hut the one answer for him, then he mar- 
ried sweet Enid Stanton. 

^‘With Paul and me the struggle for a living 
was a severe one. Accustomed, as we had been, 
to every luxury, we were often reduced to the 
necessity of foregoing even the comforts of life. 
The few hands who volunteered their services 
on our plantation, after receiving their share 
of the products, there seemed very little left. 
The work was not carried on as systematically 
nor as thoroughly as before the war. The plan- 
tation hands were reveling in their new-found 
freedom. 

‘‘Norman looked carefully after our inter- 
ests, of which he practically retained the over- 
sight. 


184 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


^‘Paul, after attaming his sixteenth year, 
grew restless and unhappy, for we had not the 
means to educate him as he desired. Each year 
it seemed our circumstances grew more straight- 
ened. Finally he suggested selling our Florida 
home and going to our Kentucky property, 
which we did. The money we received for our 
Florida home Paul spent in securing an educa- 
tion which fitted him for a lucrative position in 
a mercantile house. Father meant he should 
turn his attention to law, but he rejected out- 
right the idea. Paul was developing into a very 
selfish man, which grieved me sorely. When I 
importuned him to allow me to accompany him 
and remain with or near him while he was pur- 
suing his studies, he refused me this pleasure 
so emphatically and peremptorily, assigning so 
many reasons why I should not, that I did not 
again refer to the matter, for I was becoming 
timid, my vivacious spirit had deserted me; I 
feared PauPs outbursts of temper, and had fall- 
en into the habit of yielding to his caprices. I 
was no longer the Jean Carvil of old; I felt 
sometimes that I had become almost an imbecile. 

‘^So I remained here at home when Paul went 
to college. I had no companions save the faith- 
ful friends who were once my servitors, and 
are yet. I brought condemnation on myself for 
my way of living, but I had through sorrow 


OF KENTUCKY 


185 


grown callous to all insinuations, all calumny, 
and now nothing touches me as at first when 
these reflections reached my ear. I have made 
few friends here in Kentucky. Only a few have 
sought me out, or shown a disposition to culti- 
vate my friendship. The old life has slipped 
entirely from me. I left my dearest and most 
cherished desires in the sunny home where my 
girlhood was spent. 

‘^You have a mocking bird here in Kentucky 
whose song resembles that of the Florida mock- 
er. Not often, but sometimes, one of your birds 
will sing till the small hours of the night, espec- 
ially on clear, moonlight nights. M'any times 
I have sat by my window the night through list- 
ening to and eagerly catching every trill of its 
song, for it revives sweet memories of that far- 
off home I shall see no more, where the sweet- 
voiced singers cease not their lays day or night. 

was very, very lonely when Paul first left 
me, and to fill up the tedium of the weary hours, 
I have gone often to the fields with Inda, George 
and their children and dropped the com and 
beans in the furrows, or have taken a hoe and 
assisted in covering the grain. Mammy Alice 
wept bitterly over this at first, but before she 
died she grew accustomed to my peculiarities, 
and said but little. George and Inda, knowing 
my fondness for music, for three years saved a 


186 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


little from their earnings and bought me a 
piano. George found a second-hand almost new 
instrument at a bargain. They presented it 'as 
a Christmas offering. I had no words to thank 
them for their kindness and unselfish thought 
of me; I just laid my head on Inda’s lap and 
wept till I could weep no more. The piano 
proved as much a source of delight to them -as 
me, for when the day’s labor was over they 
congregated on the front lawn and listened to 
the old songs I learned back in the Southland. 

‘^Granny Grimes, who came often to see me,, 
taught me to knit and piece quilts. I have em- 
ployed many hours in those occupations, piec- 
ing quilts for Inda and knitting for her family. 
In making her visits. Granny Grimes was in- 
variably accompanied by Pete, between whom 
and myself there sprung a warm and lasting 
friendship. 

‘‘Paul remained three years in college, then 
suddenly, without warning, he returned, bring- 
ing with him a sweet, pretty little girl as his 
wife. To say that I was surprised, would ex- 
press it mildly; I was not only surprised, but 
distressed, for I had cherished the thought that 
as I had surrendered my part of the means se- 
cured from the sale of the Florida property, to 
assist in his college expenses, he would some day 
make a home for us both; but I found to my dis- 


OF KENTUCKY 


isr 


may lie had spent all our means and come with, 
the request that I sell the half of this, our home,, 
belonging to him ; he was in need of finances to 
establish himself in business. I implored him 
not to do this, and used every argument I could 
summon to my aid, even resorting to tears, but 
finally yielding in order to hush his outbursts 
of violent temper. He was careful not to allow 
his pretty wife to overhear his importunate de- 
mands.^’ 


CHAPTEE XVI, 


MISS JEAN^S STOEY CONCLUDED. 

^‘Winning my consent to this last, and dis- 
posing of the land, they returned to Chicago, 
leaving me once again to loneliness and solitude, 
with assurances from Lucile, his sweet young 
wife, that so soon as Paul made a home of their 
own, I was to share it with them. She truly be- 
lieved this, and showed much love and devotion 
for me, which I was not slow to trust and re- 
spond to ; I was hungry for the love and consid- 
eration of my kind. But futile were my hopes 
of joining them. I never saw Lucile again; one 
year later death had claimed her. I was made 
acquainted with this fact by the coming of Paul, 
this time accompanied by a wailing infant. 
Lucile, when dying, begged him to bring her 
babe to me, leaving many messages and admoni- 
tions as to the training of her little girl. With 
a thrill of delight, I accepted the charge. Inda 
took the little one at once into her great, kind 
loving heart. She never gave her own babes 
more love and attention than she bestowed on 
this poor little motherless one, left to our care. 


OF KENTUCKY 


18 ^ 


Every device she^d practiced or heard of was 
resorted to for its nourishment and comfort. 
She seemed never to grow weary; night after 
night she would take the little one from my 
arms, walking the floor hack and forth to hush 
its wailings. 

For a long while we despaired of her life, hut 
she finally rewarded our efforts by developing 
into the sweetest, prettiest, most winsome little 
creature one ever saw. She filled my heart to 
completeness. I no longer yearned for com- 
panionship, no longer courted the acquaintance 
of the birds. Each moment, each hour, each 
day, my mind was occupied with thoughts of 
what method was best for her training; of how 
her wardrobe should be furnished; whether 
pink, blue, or white was most becoming; whether 
this little garment should be trimmed with lace 
or braid. Inda’s taste and judgment were often 
requisite in the settlement of these momentous, 
questions and in the fashioning of all these et- 
ceteras. We were both happier for the advent 
of the little waif, and Waif we named her. My 
days were no longer spent in solitude, I traveled 
no longer through the ‘‘vale of tears I lived 
in happy content ; instead of sighing, I was sing- 
ing. My mind became so absorbed in the care 
of my little charge that I did not remember I 
had ever been unhappy. She was the means of 


190 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


bringing about me some of the children of this 
vicinity whom I had never met. Especially was 
I favored by repeated visits from Granny 
•Grimes and Pete, who was then a small boy of 
:hve or six, and though there were other speci- 
mens of the Grimes family younger than he at 
.home, he seemed to prefer the society of little 
Waif to that of his small sisters, being very 
chivalrous in his attentions toward her, bestow- 
ing gifts in numerous quantities and various 
qualities. His pockets were always replete 
with objects of virtu, and all bestowed on 
^‘Waitie,^’ as he called her. Marbles, strings, 
q)ieces of broken china and glass, a box of fish- 
hooks, an old discarded cob pipe, etc. 

^‘At one time he gave her a box of sugar- 
coated pills, one and all of which she would have 
swallowed had I not made the discovery in time 
to prevent the catastrophe. He was surprised 
that I should object to her having them; said 
he’d ‘eated’ one and ’twas good as candy — too 
nice, evidently, for any one but Waitie. He was 
a generous, kind-hearted little lad, and even at 
that early age gave promise of being something 
out of the ordinary, which promise is likely to 
be fulfilled. He has grown into an intelligent 
young man, with prospects bright for a suc- 
cessful career. He has always displayed excel- 
lent taste in his selection of books. I intend he 


OF KENTUCKY 


191 


shall have father’s library, or at least all the 
books pertaining to law; Paul cares nothing for 
them, and the books are mine to bestow where 
I choose.” 

I could but contrast the difference of opinion 
entertained by Miss Jean and myself as to 
Pete’s ultimate condition. 

^^When Waif was four years old,” continued 
she, ‘‘Paul married again, married a gay young 
widow, but I did not dream this event would 
cause a separation between my darling little 
one and myself until the day he came for her. 

“ ‘No, no, Paul!’ I cried, ‘you cannot, you 
would not sever us ; bereft of her I cannot live ; 
surely, surely, Paul, you would not do so cruel 
a thing.’ At thought of it I pressed her closely 
to my bosom and wept. 

“ ‘Go way, papa, you make Aunty Deany 
cwy, go way, papa;” she nestled her little head 
close and lovingly on my neck. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Oh, my darling, my precious one, I will not 
give you up!” pressing her close, close to my 
heart, while my tears flowed afresh. 

“ ‘No, no, Waitie can’t go; Waitie tay wi’ 
Auntie Deanie. Don’t cwy, Deanie.’ With her 
little hands she wiped the falling tears from my 
cheeks.” 

At this moment Aunt Inda dropped the pea- 
cock’s tail from her hand, and with an agoniz- 


192 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


ing, prolonged wail, slie threw up her armSy 
clasping her hands above her head. 

^^Oh, Miss Jeanie! Miss Jeanie, honey, don’t 
bring up all dat mis’ble, heart wrenchin’ times 
over ergin.’ With tears streaming from her 
kind old eyes, she rose and fled from the room. 

^‘My tears, my pleadings, united with those 
of Waifie’s, were unavailing. We were torn 
ruthlessly apart. I was not even asked to ac- 
company her, for he said his wife’s sister was 
visiting them, and they were receiving many 
friends in honor of her coming; for the present 
their house was fllled with company. 

^‘Oh, the pain, the anguish, the utter desola- 
tion and hopelessness of this separation ! Words 
are insufficient to convey to you the blank de- 
spair that settled o ’er my life. Oh, how I missed 
the dear, clinging little arms, the bright, sunny 
curls that were wont to nestle near my heart 
each night, the sweet kiss that often awakened 
me from my slumbers in the morning. My 
heart went out in one agonizing appeal for the 
restoration of my darling little one. Waifie! 
Waifie! was my constant, longing cry, from 
morn till night, from night till morn. In my 
wretchedness, I upbraided God for taking from 
me mother, lover, father, home and now little 
Waif. I cried out in my grief: ‘Oh, God, take 
from me my hope of heaven, and instead re- 


OF KENTUCKY 


193 


store to me my precious little darling!’ Vain 
were my importunities. I saw her no more for 
six long, weary years. 

Pete often witnessed my grief and would 
strive in his childish way to alleviate the poig- 
nancy of my mental sutfering, by placing at my 
disposal any and 'all of his childish treasures. 
With his little arms about my neck, our tears 
often flowed in concert, for he seemed inconsol- 
able at loss of ^Waitie,’ and declared often he 
would fight Waitie’s papa and bring her home.” 

These words of Pete ’s relative to the combat 
were prophetic, though we were all unconscious 
of the fact at that time. 

‘^Poor little lad, for many days he wept afresh 
at sight of any of her belongings. A pair of dis- 
carded little shoes was the favorite receptacle 
of his tears, and I often found him kissing the 
shabby little broken doll she had left behind. 
We gathered up all her playthings and those of 
her dresses left, the little straw hat he had dec- 
orated with scarlet roses the day before her de- 
parture, and laid them sacredly, sadly and ten- 
derly away, weeping more disconsolately than 
if our darling were dead. Pete never came but 
he looked sorrowfully at the little shoes and 
hat. The little shoes and hat gave signs of age, 
the roses withered and dropped their petals, but 
Pete’s adoration for his little lost love seemed 


194 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


not to lose an atom of its warmth, till Waif made 
ns a visit when she was ten years old; he has 
never looked on those little articles of apparel 
since. 

^‘At ten, she was a sweet, pretty little miss 
who had assumed city airs and graces. She had 
not forgotten any of her old friends, however, 
hut clasped us each in a warm, loving embrace, 
presenting a rosebud of a mouth for our delec- 
tation. She did not overlook Pete in this respect, 
who flushed over her frank and ardent manner 
of greeting. He was a well grown lad of fifteen 
or sixteen, and not accustomed to caresses only 
of the type Granny proffered him, which were 
strongly impregnated with the smell of the cob- 
pipe. He came each day of her visit to me, but 
the reticent, shy manner never gave place to the 
free, outspoken, strong feeling of affection dis- 
played for her in infancy. 

I have long since relinquished the hope of ever 
claiming her as my own again, to have and to 
hold, but Paul is educating her, and whatever 
her home influences and environments may be, 
she has never forgotten nor ceased to love me. 
So soon as she learned to write, a correspond- 
ence between us began, which has never ceased. 
I never receive a communication from her but 
she sends greeting to all friends; especially in 
this does she favor ^Peep,’ for she yet clings to 


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the name her infant lips gave him, asking after 
her knight of the sugar-coated pills, or of the 
millinery proclivities ; ever in some pleasant way 
she asks after him. I would fain have her with 
me now in my illness, hut she is in Europe with 
her father and knows not of my illness. 

‘‘Ah, well,^’ she continued sadly, “it is al- 
most over with now. Soon my frail barque will 
drift out to the other shore, and I look forward 
with longing to a release from sad reflections; 
for with hopes crushed in girlhood, my heart’s 
cherished plans laid waste by a destiny over 
which I had no control, or had not the strength 
of mind or will to overreach, I have but few 
pleasant memories left for my mind to dwell 
upon. The greater part of my life has been 
spent in sad reminiscence and tears. Now, the 
grasshopper’s song has become a burden, for 
I am no longer young. 

“I have given to George and Inda this, my 
home, to do as they wish with. A well-earned 
compensation for the kindness, love and care 
bestowed on me, their for long years’ pensioner. 
Paul may set up a claim, but I have guarded 
against all further infringements of my rights 
to dispose of what is lawfully my own. Paul 
is a wealthy man and no longer needs assist- 
ance.” 


196 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


After this long talk she was naturally weary, 
falling into a quiet sluniber. She lived some 
months longer, then went quietly to her eternal 
rest, appointing Pete Grimes administrator. The 
home and all appurtanoes belonging to the farm 
were willed to Inda and George, Pete to look 
after their interests and attend to any legal mat- 
ter necessary. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A PICNIC AND ITS KESULTS. 

Joe Benton’s arrival from L College her- 

alded the coming of Alma and the children, who 
soon followed, and then snch a round of pleas- 
ure-seeking never came my way before or since. 
It was a dining at our house, a tea party at Bob 
Kenner’s, a moonlight at Captain ^Hartley’s, a 
picnic here, a fish-fry there, till my head, not- 
withstanding I enjoyed the buzz, grew dizzy at 
thought of so much gaity. 

Alma entered into these pleasures with so 
much avidity that I hoped she ’d gotten over that 
Colonel Tudor a!ffair. She and Laura evinced a 
great warmth of friendship for each other from 
the beginning of their acquaintance, which last- 
ed for a few weeks, then coldness or inditference 
took the place of this seemingly mutual attach- 
ment. 

Laura had, through the influence of Doctor 
Brice, secured the fall and winter school, and 
it was only on evenings and Saturdays she had 
a leisure moment to receive or return visits. 


198 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


The harvesting was over and Old Man entered 
into the sports of the young people and chil- 
dren with a hearty good will. At times his bois- 
terous munner was not in keeping with his age 
and 'the requirements of a deacon of the church. 
Frequently he was more tumultuous in keeping 
up an uproar than the children. I distinctly 
recall one evening when our parlor was full of 
young people. Laura or Alma was playing a 
quick step, and I heard la pattering of feet just 
outside my window on the veranda. Putting 
my head out I beheld Old Man, unobserved as 
he believed, in his stocking feet, skipping and 
shuffling about, keeping time with the music. I 
looked on for a moment, then remarked to him 
dryly that I thought, for a pillar and deacon of 
the church, he was skipping it oif in fine style. 
He looked real sneakin’ for a moment, then as- 
sumed a sober air and remarked: do believe 

them young people will send me to torment if 
they don’t put a check on their fun and frolic.” 

^^But remember,” said I, ‘Hhey are young and 
full of vivacity and animation, and it’s natural 
they should feel frisky, but you!” 

^AYell, now,” he replied, ‘Hhat is just where 
the whole trouble comes in for me. I feel as 
young as the youngest, and, like them, I’m so 
full of veracity and ammunition, that it stirs 
me up to the pitch I can’t contain myself quiet. 


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Then the Bible says there ’s a time for dancing, 
and if I’m ever to fulfill that command, now’s 
the time. So what am I to do ? ” 

He always proved by the Scripture that his 
misdemeanors were Bible injunctions. 

‘ ‘ You incorrigible old ninnie, come in here and 
go to bed, like any sensible, tired old farmer 
should,” said I. 

Pete and Laura were Alma’s first callers. 
Lute, Callie Hartley, Jack Winton, Doctor Brice 
and a score of others came later, and how happy 
and bright life seemed for each and all of those 
joyous young hearts. Jack was growing either 
inured to his heart-ache, or was getting bravely 
over it. I wondered how any one owning beau- 
tiful Hazeldean could be 'altogether unhappy. 
And there were many otfier beautiful, God- 
given things in this life worth living for and 
enjoying. Oh, yes, ‘Ghe world is full of beauty 
when the heart is full of love,” and my heart 
was overflowing with love for my dear, kind 
old man, Alma and the children. 

I had reached that point where I decided to 
let Jack and Laura work out their own salvation 
and to rest on my oars for la spell, let the world 
wag as it would. This resolution caught me one 
dull day when I was taking, or trying to take, 
my afternoon’s siesta. A short while thereafter 
I was forced to change my mind, forced against 


200 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


my inclination to put my oars in motion and 
battle against a high tide sweeping my way. It 
happened in this wise. Jack got to be a fre- 
quent visitor at our house, and it seemed each 
time he came Pete would be present, or drop in 
pretty soon thereafter. I paid little attention 
at first, but they got to be each so much in evi- 
dence, my suspicions were awakened. Jack 
would never carry Alma to church in his hand- 
some vehicle but the following Sabbath Pete 
would, with Alma’s consent, enjoy the same 
privilege, and, what was more annoying, she 
lappeared to have a preference for Pete’s so- 
ciety, although she was a dozen years his senior. 

Pretty soon after her return she asked what 
had wrought such a change in Pete’s manner 
and style of dress. I replied just as his mother 
made reply to a similar query of mine : ^ ^ Com- 
bined with soap and water, and the winnowing 
of the laziness out of him by Laura.” 

‘‘Oh, but,” said she, “he is so polished and 
well informed. His gentlemanly, afiPable man- 
ner is altogether foreign to his former rustic 
deportment. Then he is conversant upon any 
topic you may introduce. Only last evening Mr. 
Winton and I were having a little dispute over 
some point in Eoman history. I believed I was 
right concerning it; Mr. Winton knew he was, 
when Pete quietly informed us we were neither 


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201 


one correct, and brought forward proof not to 
be disputed or questioned. Mr. Winton grew 
a little irate over the matter, but I was glad of 
the correction.” 

Said I: ‘^The ignorance of Eoman history is 
inexcusable in you ; but it is not to be wondered 
over that Jack should grow rusty in such mat- 
ters, having his mind so absorbed in farm work, 
beautifying Hazeldean, colt training, tater bugs 
and Laura Dane.’ 

‘‘Laura Dane!” she exclaimed; “is he inter- 
ested in Laura? I thought she was that rich 
banker’s son’s fiancee.” 

“I don’t know about the last,” said I, “but 
I do know J ack Winton loves her madly, and has 
since she was a little lass in short skirts, and 
you’d best not encourage his attentions.” 

“I certainly did not know I had been making 
overtures of that nature. I shall hereafter be 
more careful and not pin my heart on my sleeve 
for Mr. Winton to peck at,” she replied curtly. 

“Oh, well, you need not throw him over as 
Laura has for that long-legged Irishman, Pete 
Grimes, ’ ’ I answered a litle snappishly. 

She gave me a prolonged, questioning glance, 
then quoted: 

“ ’Tis good in every case, you know. 

To have two strings unto your bow ; ’ 
so I’ll retain both.” 


202 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Now be it understood for a long while I’d had 
my eye on Doctor Brice as a brofher-in-law. I 
thought it sheer nonsense in Alma to cling so 
obstinately to that love atfair of hers occurring 
so long ago, say twelve or fifteen years or more 
or less gone. But it seemed these young people 
were making a fine mess of my mental arrange- 
ments, for though Dr. Brice had been Alma’s 
ardent admirer for two or three years past, or 
whenever she was with us, he had of late trans- 
ferred his attentions to Laura. I no longer fa- 
vored an alliance between her and Norton; but 
for Pete, I had settled her and her bees com- 
fortably down at Hazeldean, if there was any 
comfort to be found in having bees around. 

However, at this period, I had given Pete to 
the four winds of the earth, to toss about and 
dally with at its pleasure; but I found Lute was 
decidedly interested that no rude winds should 
come Pete’s way. 

How did I gain this knowledge? Oh, there 
are many avenues through which you may ac- 
quire knowledge of this kind, or any other kind, 
if you’re interested sufficiently to seek for it. 
I was not under the necessity of searching far ; 
the knowledge came directly my way, and I 
seized it. 

Since the young people had been gathering 
round me, I caught Lute looking at Pete oft- 


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ener than she did at Joe Benton or lany other 
laddie; she seemed to regard the name of Pete 
as the most euphonious note upon which to 
harp; that Pete was referred to by her as the 
repository of all useful knowledge; that was 
the way I obtained my information. 

Did Pete return this interests The fact that 
he cared for none but Laura was plainly evident 
to me, whatever another’s view might be. Had 
I been Pete, I should have succumbed to charms 
such as Lute possessed. To me she was a rose — 
a sweet, pretty wild rose, with the vividness of 
the wild rose-tint on her cheek, kind and loving 
to all, making glad the hearts of the depressed 
and lowly living near her. There are many 
such scattered over the earth, and the Station 
was not exempt from this class of people by a 
goodly number. 

In September a Saturday pic-nic was sprung. 
There arose a little dispute as to the meeting 
point. Finally a location was selected by Pete 
in the Winton Woodland, near Hazeldean. The 
young people, and some of the older ones, grew 
very enthusiastic over the convivial time in 
prospect, for Jack Winton ’s agricultural ten- 
dencies had induced him to turn his attention ta 
watermelon culture, and the consequence was,, 
his crop was so immense he could not find a 
market for it, and as a finale to the day’s pleas- 


204 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Tire, Jack issued invitations to a watermelon 
feast in the afternoon lat Hazeldean. The en- 
tire neighborhood was solicited to attend, re- 
gardless of color or previous condition. I pon- 
dered the propriety of this, but saw the wisdom 
of it when we assembled on the lawn at Hazel- 
dean, for never was a lot of darkies made so 
happy, or kept so busy as this, rolling water- 
melons from ice cellars, spring-houses — ^^hand- 
ling wash basins, water pitchers, towels, nap- 
kins, carrying from the tables placed on the 
lawn, the rind from which the rich, lucious pulp 
had been abstracted and devoured in great quan- 
tities, the process continuing indefinitely, re- 
gardless of overcharged stomachs and head- 
aches. No, no, never was a lot of darkies so 
happy. I believe some there would have ex- 
changed their chance of Heaven for such. an- 
other feast. 

Uncle Tobe was commander-in-chief, master 
of ceremonies, or -anything else that meant pro- 
ficient handling of watermelons, giving utter- 
ance to ‘ ‘ Glory ! ’ ’ whenever he cut an unusually 
large, luscious melon. He shoved the young 
negroes here and there with a ^^Step lively dar, 
you lazy coon, no time ter be foolin’ ’roun’; an’ 
don’ lemme fine non dese knives an’ towls, an’ 
napkings come up missin’ ; ef I do, I know zackly 
whar ter fin’ ’em. Step lively dar, Jupe, an’ 


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205 


bring dem -ar muskmillions to de front — de like- 
Pes ones in de lot, an’ dem oantyoulopes wid de 
deep furrers. Yon Liz Vance, pass me dat 
butcher knife I see you feelin’ de aige of, jes er 
minit ergo. Be perticler, or you cut dat pocket 
I see you slip it inter. Glory! Look out darl 
you likely git hu’t; I ain’ got no time ter picks 
you up when I runs over yer. Pears lak you all 
niggers done los’ yer git up an’ git erlong; yer 
moufs spread lak er blowin’ mocisin’s, jes er 
grinnin’ ’roun’; yer teef shinin’ lak er white 
wash palin’ fence ; you sholy never see er water- 
million berfo’.” 

I did not altogether enjoy this sumptuous 
feast, and there were others whose pleasure I 
believe was marred by an unfortunate little in- 
cident. Jack had been in pretty close attend- 
ance on Alma throughout the day, to Pete’s 
chagrin, but in his home, as host, he was forced 
to distribute his attentions equally among his 
guests. Before the feast many of us sat on the 
veranda, a few having gone to the parlors. 
Laura, who had been looking pale and out of 
spirits for some weeks, was gayest of the gay 
throughout the morning. She came to the ver- 
anda and found a seat very near me, as I sat 
conversing with Jack’s Aunt Emily. Pete was 
on the lawn at the foot of the veranda steps^ 
teaching the children a new game. Of a sudden, 


*206 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


some one struck up a lively air on the piano. I 
heard a gasp from Laura, and the next moment 
she sped by me, with her hands pressed tightly 
over her ears. Stumbling as she ran down the 
steps, she fell headlong into Pete’s outstretched 
arms. He saw her blundering down and saved 
her from further injury. 

‘^Oh, Pete!” she gasped, regaining her foot- 
ing, where can I go to escape that sound?” 

Looking into her face he comprehended the 
pain she was sutfering at sound of the piano, 
once her own in happier days. 

‘‘Eun to the end of the avenue, I will follow,” 
he said in a low tone. She turned and fled down 
the drive like an arrow. 

‘^De hare an’ de houn’s!” screamed Dennis 
Grimes. Split for it. Miss Laura; jes’ tar out 
er strip, we’s er cornin’!” 

With a bound and cry of a hound on the scent, 
he landed in the middle of the drive and scamp- 
ered after her. A dozen or more little boys fell 
in behind, rushing pell-mell in Dennis’ wake, 
joining in the hound-like chorus. Those left 
cheered and shouted to the hounds, thinking it 
something improvised for their special amuse- 
ment. 

Pete made no effort to overtake Laura, but 
kept pace with the little boys. Suddenly I saw 
her drop down, the whole pack surrounding her. 


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2or 


I watched the chase, thinking it needless suf- 
fering. If she was so attached to the piano, 
why not wed Jack. I found him superior to 
Norton in all except beauty, and I believed she 
had. True, Jack was rather quiet than other- 
wise, but he bore the unmistakable sign of good 
breeding and gentle birth, and had wealth at his 
command. There was only one solution for me : 
that was she loved Pete Grimes ; and what there 
was so magnetic about him, I was not sufficiently 
discerning to discover. Old Man said Alma, 
Laura and Lute had all gone ‘‘franzy^’ over 
Pete. My opinion was not so severe as his, yet 
I thought Pete was preferred by the three, and 
I believed loved Laura. Eight or wrong, such 
were my cogitations, when aroused from my 
reverie by Jack’s aunt at my elbow. 

^^Did you ever see a girl who could run so 
rapidly ? She must be a hoiden. ’ ’ 

^^Far from it,” said I, resenting her last 
words. ‘Mt is Laura Dane, one of the most re- 
fined young ladies I ever met. A sweet, love- 
able girl, with many charms ; a graduate from 
one of the first colleges in our State. She ran 
to escape the pain the sound of that piano gives 
her; in her prosperous, happy days it was 
hers.” 

‘^Ah! I see,” she returned; have heard 
Jack speak of her as a very cultured young lady. 


208 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


high spirited and all that. I wonder how she 
failed to capture his affections, ‘having charms 
so alluring.’’ 

^ ^ The failure was not hers, ’ ’ I returned, smil- 
ing. ^ ‘ You surely have been deaf to what rumor 
has to say.” 

‘‘Ah, indeed,” she remarked. “You see I go 
out so seldom. Hazeldean has so many attrac- 
tions for me; besides, I’m indolent, too indolent, 
I believe, to cultivate my neighbors, but I’ll see 
to it I cultivate that young lady, if Jack is in- 
terested in her. Does she live near you? Could 
you induce her to visit me ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She has no time for making visits. The care 
and responsibility of an invalid mother and lit- 
tle brother are hers. She is teaching the district 
school now; besides, she has an apiary which 
requires all her attention from April to July.” 

“How sad,” she commented sympathetically. 

“There you mistake again, she is too busy to 
entertain sadness, yet I often wonder over her 
cheerfulness. She has made many friends since 
coming among us, and has all of life except 
nineteen years before her.” 

“And that young man who ran down the 
avenue with the boys is Mr. Grimes, I believe. 
I met him when he came to see Jack about the 
picnic grounds. Is he — ” She hesitated. 


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209 


‘‘He is a friend of Laura’s, assists her with 
her school and in her apiary, ’ ’ I replied. 

At this moment of our confab the little hoys 
came trooping back up the drive. Dennis told 
US Miss Laura had fallen and sprained her ankle 
and Pete was going to carry her home. Later 
I found he had returned, and I saw him and 
Jack’s aunt seated on a rustic chair, chatting 
and smiling at each other in a most affable man- 
ner. Afterwards I saw them looking over the 
watermelons, and when Pete and Lute drove off, 
one of the largest accompanied them with Mrs. 
Allen’s regards to Miss Dane. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE TEAIL OF THE SEEPENT. 

The beautiful autumn days were drawing to 
a close, and drear winter was fast approaching, 
but I heeded not the slipping away of the bright- 
ness, nor the incoming of the bleak, chilly days 
and nights. Having Alma, dear Alma, with me, 
I gave little heed to occurrences transpiring out- 
side my own household. Yes, Alma was with us 
to remain until spring. Ah! if I could only 
have her to hold, I reflected, but that restless 
spirit kept her always wandering. 

Just previous to the ushering in of winter, I 
decided on doing a little visiting. I meant 
my first call should be on Margaret Ellen Ken- 
ner. As I entered the hall I heard some one in 
the sitting room thrumming the piano. In pass- 
ing the door, I discovered it to be Laura and 
paused to hear her song. I had not seen her for 
almost two months. She had ceased visiting us ; 
I could not tell why, but a little restraint seemed 
to have fallen on her usually frank, cordial man- 
ner. Alma was still the recipient of much at- 


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211 


tention from Pete, in the way of visits and the 
bestowal of flowers. All the leisure moments 
he could spare from his other duties he gave 
her. She said he was an absorbent to the full- 
-est extent, that he was extracting from her every 
variety of knowledge she had at her command. 
They talked on religion, ethics, politics, meta- 
physics, and all the other ics in existence. I fre- 
quently grew tired of these harangues, but Old 
Man sat and listened with open-mouthed in- 
terest. 

Jack came as often as he found time for visit- 
ing, but there was less frequency and his calls 
were not so protracted, for he lived three miles 
from the Station. Pete lived near us, and his 
length of limb made the distance seem less. 

Yes, Laura appeared to have grown a little 
reserved toward me and mine. I attributed this 
coldness, in part, to Pete’s interest in Alma, 
though I could have assured her of the absurd- 
ity of her jealousy, if that was the trouble. 

Ah, well, young people contrive to be very 
enigmatical sometimes, and Laura’s conduct 
on the occasion of my visit to Margaret Ellen 
was of this type — ^more of a puzzle than I could 
solve to my entire satisfaction. 

She was trilling in sad, low tones that saddest 
of all old songs, ‘^Parted.” As the sad, sor- 


212 


’MONGST THE HH^LS 


rowful cadence fell from iier lips, it sounded 
like a wail of the broken-hearted. What had 
befallen Laura that she should be sobbing this 
old melody in such heart-broken tones. Pete^ 
nor any other man, was worth such devotion as 
the song and her manner implied. Yes, I was 
forced to pause outside and listen to: 

‘ ‘ In the mellow light I sit. 

Idly disregarding it — 

Idly rocking to and fro. 

As the moments come and go. 

Asking vainly, asking why. 

Fate has parted you and I. 

‘^Ah! why is it there are few 
Half so genial, half so true. 

Half so near allied as we*? 

Yet an unkind destiny 
Pears its cruel barriers high — 

Fate has parted you and I. ^ ’ 

^Hs it, darling, is it sin. 

Just to think what mig'ht have been, 

To unveil my eyes and see 
What can never, never be ; 

As I clasp my hands and cry. 

Fate has parted you and I.’^ 


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213 


As the last words were uttered her head fell 
forward, and, covering her face with her hands, 
she sobbed convulsively: ^‘Oh, why, why did 
I not tell Pete I loved him I The humiliation 
of confession couldn’t have been worse than 
the thought of having lost him, lost him for- 
ever; but poor, poor, weak Fred — oh! oh!” 

I longed to rush in and tell her she’d not lost 
him to Alma, who would scorn the idea of rob- 
bing any one of Pete Grimes, but I restrained 
my inclination, knowing this information she 
was giving utterance to was not meant for me 
or any other eavesdropper ; so I stole silently on 
to Margaret Ellen’s room, where I found her 
and Lute having a warm discussion over the 
most becoming style of making her (Lute’s) 
new dress. Margaret Ellen was inflexible in 
her determination to have it made according to 
what she thought most suitable; and Lute was 
equally inexorable in her determination to 
thwart her mother’s wishes. 

Peace resumed its sway immediately after my 
entrance, and Margaret Ellen began recounting 
to me her ailments, which were numerous and 
diversified. She said she’d been at Bob to 
make her some crutches for use when the rheu- 
matism got her to the extent she’d be no longer 
able to use her limbs, which she was calculating 


214 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


would be the case that winter, and, said she: 

“I sent by Pete to L for a half-dozen 

‘Poorman’s plasters’ — they’ll be of service^ 
probably, when the doctor can’t be found; but 
Pete said he thought it would be an in-in-in — 
what was it. Lute, Pete said about the plas- 
ters?” 

^^Oh, ma,” spoke Lute a: little crossly, ^‘he 
said it would be an incongruous mixture for a 
rich woman to use a ‘Poor man’s plaster.’ ” 

“Oh, yes, I remember now,’’ her mother re- 
turned. ‘ ‘ He also said they might have the con- 
trary etfect to the one desired, and when he 
gave them to me he remarked I’d better be care- 
ful when using them, or I might get inoculated 
with the disease called im-im — ^what was it. 
Lute?” 

“Impecuniosity,” answered Lute, recovering 
her good humor. 

“Oh, yes, so it was, impecuniosity ; Lute al- 
ways remembers Pete’s very words, but I for- 
get; he makes use of such cranky ones to get 
me tangled, I suppose ; but Bob told me I need 
not be troubled about catching impecuniosity, 
for I was overstocked with it already. I didn’t 
catch his meaning altogether, but I guess I shall 
find out all about im — impecongruosity, or what- 
ever you call it, for I’ll sure use those plasters. 


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215 


I see they’re highly recommended in a little 
book Granny Grimes brought me — dear old lady 
that she is.” 

Lute looked at me, while a doubtful smile 
played about her mouth. 

At this moment Laura entered smiling, with 
all trace of her recent sorrow gone. Girls with 
heartache smile easily, I have found. 

She met and greeted me with such unfeigned 
cordiality, giving me the kiss she seemed always 
to think due me, that I rose and embraced her 
warmly, exclaiming: 

‘^My dear girl, I feared I had lost you.” 

‘‘Oh, no,” she returned, “I’ve had no leisure 
for visiting; my time has been given all to my 
school. I don’t wish to prove an unsatisfactory 
teacher, and teaching the ‘young idea how to 
shoot’ is no joke; yet one should not fall out 
with one ’s bread and butter. ’ ’ 

She said this while pinning on her hat. 

“Come see us soon; mother speaks of you 
so often, and wonders why you have ceased to 
visit us, and says her first call when spring re- 
turns is to be given you. ’ ’ 

I reckoned on going to see her right away, 
but Joe was making arrangements to return to 
college, and I was kept busy assisting in the 
preparations for his departure. 


216 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Laura’s school closed and Pete went to col- 
lege with Joe. His father refused to aid him, 
but he worked his way through his first quar- 
ter’s term — sweeping floors, carrying coal, mak- 
ing fires, etc., and paid his tuition. With the 
money he received for assisting in Laura’s 
school, he boarded himself by renting a room 
and doing his own cooking. 

It was conceded by all, especially by Bob 
Kenner, that no such young man as Pete had 
ever been found about the Station. 

Bound to make his mark, he is,” said Old 
Man. 

I thought to myself he’d already made an in- 
delible mark on Laura’s heart, but I’d under- 
gone a change in thinking Pete was a good-for- 
nothing, and, with the rest of the Station, con- 
demned Barney’s methods. 

When the holiday convivialities and stir had 
ended; when Joe and Pete, accompanied by 
Lute, had returned to college, I walked over one 
afternoon to visit Mrs. Dane and Laura. I was 
admitted by Kenner, and as I entered the sit- 
ting-room from the front, I saw Nellie Bond 
escaping through another door. 

The cordiality of my reception was assur- 
ance that I was a welcome visitor. Mrs. Dane 
was no longer an invalid, her strength had re- 


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217 


turned, slowly but surely, and with returning 
health there followed a striking individuality, 
that of a sweet, cheerful disposition — a wonder- 
ful tendency to find the silver lining to each 
cloud. With optimistic eyes she now viewed 
life a sweet boon, given to each individual to 
turn to account in the best way possible. Said, 
with spring’s return, it was her intention to 
visit each and every home about the Station; 
that all had been so loving and thoughtful of 
her comfort while she lay almost a helpless in- 
valid. 

^‘Nellie Bond,” said she, ‘^has been the most 
oareful of nurses, but poor Nellie, I cannot un- 
derstand her growing nervousness ; why, instead 
of smiles on her lips there are often tears in 
her eyes; and she now avoids meeting friends 
who so frequently called.” 

Said Laura: do not know why, but Nellie 

is getting restless and unhappy. I ask her some- 
times if she is no longer content in making her 
home with us. With a burst of tears, she inva- 
riably replies, she will never be so happy in 
any other home. Some day I will ferret out 
her trouble.” 

^‘Oh, yes,” continued Mrs. Dane, ^‘and we 
will do all we can to bring back her smiles, and 


218 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


help her to regain the happiness that once was 
hers, poor Nellie.’^ 

Along in February, Deacon Smart fell sick — 
very sick — of fever. Old Man and I were called 
in to see him die. It was not a political discus- 
sion between Dick Smart and the old man on 
this occasion, but a wrestle on Old Man’s part 
with the Angel of Death” to spare the life of 
Dick to his weeping children and disconsolate 
wife Jane. His prayer was a labyrinth of loud^ 
wordy, vehement outpouring of expressions, not 
half of which I could understand, or link to- 
gether in a comprehensive way, but the dear 
Lord understood the desire of John Isaac’s 
heart, and also the tangle of his intricate and 
mazy words, for Dick Smart, at the close of the 
prayer, was growing warmer instead of colder, 
and continued thus improving till recovery was 
reached. And to this day he declared that 
prayer of Old Man’s saved his life, and never 
again should politics, as a topic, come up be- 
tween them. 

At twelve o’clock, when we perceived the de- 
cided improvement in the deacon’s condition^ 
we started on our return home. Through nigh 
ways -and by ways we took our course homeward. 
Through the school-house lot, bordering Mrs. 
Dane ’s orchard, we went. J ust before reaching 


OF KENTUCKY 


219 ^ 


the stile we heard suppressed voices, one a wo- 
man’s distressed voice, the other a man’s. I 
was alarmed at first and gave Old Man’s arm 
la pull that brought him to a standstill. '^List- 
en,” I said in a whisper, ‘^what is that!” 

It was the woman’s voice sobbing almost in- 
audibly: ‘ 'I cannot; oh I cannot ! They would 
not receive me, they would scorn me. ’ ’ 

‘‘Hush!” spoke the man in low, emphatic 
tones, “would you have the whole world hear 
you!” 

“What is the world to me now!” she moaned., 
“I will give you money,” he continued; “you 
must get away. ’ ’ 

“Oh, what can I do, where can I turn!” Then 
vehemently she continued, “Marry me as you 
promised me you would.” 

“I’ll tell you,” he said, in a conciliatory tone^, 
“I will give you money to go to your uncle, then 
I will follow you and marry you. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, if I could believe it ! ” she cried. 

Eight here Old Man gave a decided clearance- 
of the throat, the talk ceased, and we continued 
our journey. He had not heard it all distinctly^ 
being somewhat deaf, and, like myself, was in 
the dark as to whom the voices belonged to,, 
or the meaning of the strange conversation. 


220 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Here was a mystery, or something that as- 
sumed the form of mystery. I disliked myste- 
ries, but this was one worthy of penetration. 
Was it any of my affair 1 Oh no, yet a troubu- 
lons thonght permeated the whole occurrence. 
At first I would not give heed to a lurking anx- 
iety that persistently took possession of me, 
presenting itself, ever and anon, diligent and 
unrelenting in its attack, till finally I put the 
question to myself in a not to be evaded way: 
^‘Was that woman making night piteous with 
her weeping, Laura Laura was a girl who 
found, like almost every other girl, a real or 
fancied something to cry over occasionally. I 
had found her in tears once, which must have 
proved solacing, for an hour after no tear stains 
or trace of grief was left. It often happens that 
a wounded heart is like a cut finger, which takes 
but little time for healing, and a few girlish 
tears proves an aid to the heart healing process. 

But this night’s incident — this midnight en- 
counter of ours — in which tears proved not 
availing. Ah, well, time would reveal it all. 
But do you think I could dismiss it from my 
mind ? Oh no, not I. 


CHAPTEEXIX 

OLD MAN^S EXPERIENCE IN BEE KEEPING. 

Spring was advancing with slow but sure 
tread. The valley mists, the soft tints gleaming 
amid the hedges, the blue haze hanging over the 
distant hills, the caw of the noisy crow, were 
all heralds of spring’s approach, and anon it 
came till the last days of April were over us^ 
bringing an unheralded contretremps, or ‘‘coun- 
try tramps,” as Old Man persisted in calling 
the word. In fact, it appeared that the “coun- 
try tramps” came not singly, but in pairs, or 
by the bunch, following closely in the footsteps 
of each other, which for unexpected surprises 
was unprecedented for me, as far as my journey 
on life’s pathway had run. Alma had departed 
with the appearing of spring, so I was forced 
to entertain the “country tramps” alone. 

Now be it known in the autumn previous to 
this spring I’m talking about. Old Man John 
Isaac Spindle had got the idea into his bald head 
that he must keep bees. Laura’s investment in 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


'^22 


that line had got him partly crazy, and when he 
one day in June or July went over to Jonas 
Piper’s, who lived three miles away, and saw 
Jonas robbing ,a bee hive, the job was finished, 
and he was a fit subject for the insane asylum 
on the bee question. It was a warm day and he 
<jame in from Jonas’ puffing and perspiring; 
dropping onto a chair, he drew each shirt sleeve 
lacross his brow, pulled the old hat he was wear- 
ing from his head and began fanning energeti- 
cally. By his fiurried manner I knew something 
unusual had occurred, and I awaited develop- 
ments. 

Pretty soon he began: tell you what, old 

’oman, I saw the finest sight this morning my 
eyes ever beheld! I got over to Jonas’ just as 
they began robbing the bees, and they took up- 
’ards of — oh, well, I don’t know how much, 
honey — more’n a hundred pounds, and t’was as 
easy done as settin’ on a rockin’ chair and rock- 
in’ yourself to sleep. Neither Jonas or the boys 
got a sting. Jonas has his bee hives so built that 
all you have to do is to open the top story and 
you behold the honey in all its — its grandeur 
and sweetness. You lift the boxes off and cut 
your honey out, and so — ” Excitement pre- 
cluded further words for the moment. 

Flip, flap, flip, went the old hat. 


OF KENTUCKY 


223 


‘‘I tell you, old ’owman, it was a rar^ sight, 
and therms money on top of money in bee raisin’, 
shore there is; look what it’s doin’ for Laura?” 

Where were the bees, while he was rob- 
bing?” I asked slowly and calmly, as- I could, 
not wishing he should get more excited than he 
was, not knowing what might happen. 

‘^Oh, they were there in the hive, only a few 
on the boxes they removed. Jonas, he gave a 
putf out’n a little bellows he had some coals of 
fire and a few chips in, and the bees were gone 
before you could wink. I jest never seen any- 
thing to beat it. A fellow could get rich ter- 
rec ’ly raisin ’ bees. ’ ’ And the old hat flew f aster 
and faster. 

Where were you, John, when Jonas was 
robbing?” 

Standing ’round, here and there, lookin’ on. 
Bees are harmless if you go at ’em right. I tell 
you ’twas a sight worth seeing, and I couldn’t 
bear the thought of deprivin’ myself of the 
pleasure of owning bees, so I ups and bought a 
stand from Jonas.” 

It was my time to be excited now, and I ex- 
claimed almost breathlessly: ‘‘What! You have 
gone and bought a lot of bees to get stung to 
death with, John Isaac Spindle?” 


224 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘‘Stung to death! Who^s goin’ to get stung 
to death r’ he fairly yelled. 

“Well, I should like to know who you 
think will attend to your bees! 1^11 not, and 
you needn’t count on it.” 

“Who axed you to ’tend to ’em? You’d bet- 
ter wait till you’re called on before you take the 
house-top off raising a row about things that’s 
none of your concern!” 

“Stop, John, don’t use too strong language. 
I inferred you’d be no hand to boast of at caring 
for bees when you allowed the wasps to chase 
you from the barn ; and one time I knew an old 
bumble-bee to chase you out of a forty-acre 
field. What will become of you when a whole 
army of bees attack you at once?” 

“Who said anything about wasp-es and bum- 
ble-bees? W^ouldn’t I be a putty fool to go and 
buy a lot of the plaguy things? You’re always 
blab in’ about something nobody else is thinkin’ 
of. I guess I can attend to my bees, and I’ll 
thank nobody to interfere, neither. Ef you’ll 
attend to your own business you’ll have enough 
to do. Some folks is always meddlin’ and 
kickin’ afore they’re spurred.” 

“Oh, well,” said I, ‘‘I trust the bees will not 
turn out a failure, as that wagon crank did.” 



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OF KENTUCKY 


225 


When I mentioned the wagon crank, he 
bonnced np, and away he went to the barn ; for 
truth to tell, he’d been fooled into buying a lit- 
tle crank — an article to hoist wagons on to 
grease the wheels. He honestly believed that 
no such useful thing had ever been put on the 
market before; he not only bought one for home 
use, but bought the right to sell in two districts, 
and was wild as a loon, thinking of the money 
he’d coin out of that crank. I informed him 
there was no money in it, except what he ’d paid 
out for the fun of getting cheated. He was fear- 
fully angry over my words, and said I was too 
meddlesome, and I’d better attend to my own 
afcirs. So I turned the matter loose, and one 
fine day he hopped into the spring wagon and 
sailed out, with hopes running high. 

I was to overlook the farm hands, see that the 
stock was fed and watered and attend to my 
household atfairs. He would be absent two 
weeks on his first trip, and with the money he’d 
realize from that, he would be enabled to buy 
up other districts — extend his tours and double 
his money, not only double, but tribble and 
foubble it. That was his calculation. 

Every day he was gone, after I got through 
with the cooking, dish-washing, sweeping, dust- 
ing, etc., I would bridle and saddle the old 


226 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


switch- tail sorrel mare, ride over the farm and 
direct the work. I was often quite weary when 
the evening shadows fell, but I consoled myself 
with the thought that possibly this turn would 
cure him, and he would never go on another 
wild-goose chase afterwards. 

The two weeks had not expired, when we were 
blessed with the sight of him. He drove in late 
one afternoon, looking forlorn and dejected. I 
had missed him greatly, exceedingly uneasy, 
too, for fear of trouble coming his way, 
consequently I was delighted at beholding 
him again, and ran to the barn gate where 
he was pulling the harness from the mule. 
The very first words he gave utterance to were : 
^‘I’m tired and hongry and sick; is supper 
ready r’ 

John,^’ I asked, in anxious tones, ‘‘did you 
realize as much profit from your crank as you 
believed you would? 

Said he, solemn as a funeral: “That crank 
is the blamedest swindle ever a man was swin- 
dled on. I hainT sold nary single, solitary one, 
and I’m out ten dollars for traveling expenses, 
besides what’s gone for the right to drive round 
over the country and make a darn fool of my- 
self. Every man I tried to sell to belittled the 
thing, and I was cancelled out here, there and 


OF KENTUCKY 


22T 


<ever’ where. One place at which I stopped, 
they give me jest lessen no time to git onUn the 
neighborhood, and threatened me with cat-o’- 
nine-tails ef I didn’t git np and dnst; the case 
was a hunchin’ one, and I had to git.” 

He wound iip by saying, if he could lay hands 
on that dog-goned agent that sold him the crank 
he’d beat some honesty into his hide. 

I offered no word of condolence, neither did 
I jeer at him. I might have said, ‘H told you 
so,” but I bridled my tongue, kissed him atfec- 
tionately and spoke kindly. I prepared him a 
tempting supper and kept cheerful, thinking 
possibly this might be a lesson not easily forgot- 
ten, but it appeared I was mistaken, for here 
he’d gone and bought bees ; furthermore, I knew 
there would be no peace till he ’d tried every new 
invention in bee culture. 

When the proper time came for moving bees, 
he paid two men a dollar to fetch them home. 
Then he bought a wire bee bonnet, a pair of 
elastic gloves and smoker to use while robbing 
and hiving; and he got Jonas to make him two 
hives, in the event they swarmed, which they 
were sure to do. The bees and equipment cost 
him ten dollars — that to start on. He paid 
Jonas five dollars for a fine hive filled with bees 
nnd honey. My mouth watered over the thought 


228 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


of the nice honey I could buy with that sum; 
but Twas useless to speak a word in protest^ 
all I could do was to allow him to run the length 
of his rope and choke down. And for all he said 
I was to have nothing to do with his bees, I knew 
just how much that signified, for there was noth- 
ing under the heavens, save a rattlesnake or 
mad dog, he feared more than wasps, hornets 
or bees. 

And May, beautiful May, came dancing in 
0 ’er hill and dale. The birds warbled, the lambs 
frisked and frolicked ; across the sunbeams the 
butterfly was glancing; the honey-bee was 
wearying of its old home and seeking new quar- 
ters; in other words, swarming. Laura’s bees 
had been swarming every day for a week. 

One day as we sat eating our dinner, Jupe,. 
the hired boy, came to the door with the start- 
ling intelligence that ‘‘Dese here bees out hero 
in de yard looks like dey’s havin’ a pic-nic.” 

Up Old Man hopped, and dashing out into the 
yard, shouted: ‘‘They’re swarmin’, they’re 
swarmin’! Eun, Jupe, to the barn and fetch 
the big cow bell. Bring my bonnet and gloves, 
old ’oman, and have everything ready, it’s a 
master big swarm. Git a newspaper and put in 
front of the hive and the turkey tail to bresh 
’em off.” 


OF KENTUCKY 


229 


The bees poured out, whirling and dashing 
round till the air was thick with them. 

By the time Jupe came with the bell, the old 
man had donned his gloves and bonnet. 

^^Now, Jupe,” said he, “rattle your bell lively. 
Come a little nigher, they’ll not sting ye” (he 
forced a little hysterical laugh), “I’ll ’tend to 
where they settle.” 

Jupe went to work with the bell, and the din 
he created was so great I retired to the dining 
room and shut myself in. Pretty soon I heard 
Old Man yelling for me. Says he in his flurry 
and forgetfulness: “You’re always out o’ 
pocket when you’re most needed. Fetch a 
bucket of water and the long-handled dipper, 
and fling water up among these here bees ; I be- 
lieve the plaguey things are gwine off. Jupe! 
Quit rattlin’ that tarnal bell so loud!” 

I stood and dashed water up among them, till 
they began settling on an old apple tree bough. 
Then he said again: “Some of you run and 
fetch the hand-saw from the shed, and bring 
out the little table and a chair.” 

’Twas some of you run here, run there, run 
yonder, some of you do this, do that and do the 
other, till the last bee had hitched on to the 
hough. 


230 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Jupe and I comprised the ‘‘some of you/^ 
and we collected the articles called for with the 
utmost speed at our command. Old Man stood 
off at some distance and gazed up into the apple 
tree, as if life depended on the -severity of his 
gaze; finally, picking up the table, he placed it 
carefully under the bees, putting the chair by 
the side of the table he called out: “Jupe, get 
a forked pole to rest this limb on, then git on to 
the table and hold to the bees while I saw the 
bough off. Be careful now and don’t let ’em 
come down with a thump, ease ’em down, and 
take the limb and shake the bees off onto that 
paper you see in front of the hive.” 

“I ’spect, sir,” said Jupe, “you better do de 
seasin’ down and shakin’ yourself, as you has. 
on de bee rig. I can clam up er tree like er coon, 
see!” and before you could say scat, he was up 
in the tree. 

“Now you pass me up de saw, and set dat 
forky stick bunder de lim’, and off she comes. 

Old Man was taken aback over this maneuver 
of Jupe’s, but said nothing as he stepped from 
the chair to the table, passed the saw up and 
put the rest under the limb. 

The sawing began. 


OF KENTUCKY 


231 


‘‘It’s might’ nigh off, kotch it, sir,” says 
Jupe, as a handful of the bees rose up to his 
neighborhood. 

“Good golly!” exclaimed he, as he tumbled 
down head foremost and struck for the fence. 
Over he went — across the lot, through the pond, 
over another fence and on, on, at a breakneck 
gallop, to his mammy’s cabin, a half-mile away. 

Old Man tottered and wobbled about with his 
limb for a short while, then all at once he let 
it go and down it came, “kerthrash!” He then 
began to dance around on the table, and to give 
a slap here and there. A handful of bees were 
performing a war dance about his bonnet; in 
fact, they began to assail him in all quarters, 
taking him wherever they could find him. 

“Slap, slap” — he made a misstep forward — 
“slap, slap, slap” — off the table he came, over 
the chair, down, under and up again; the bees 
going down and returning with him; his bonnet 
fell off, but he rose running and shot for the 
garden gate, which, fortunately was open. 
Through the pea vines, over the potato ridges, 
across a row of butterbeans, tearing along — 
turning summersaults and taking steps that 
seemed beyond mortal legs, the bees in full 
chase. On and on through the strawberry bed 


232 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


and down to the hedge he flew, scattering things 
as he went. 

I stood oil at a safe distance, not knowing 
whether to laugh or he frightened, finally yield- 
ing to the former, when up spoke two or three 
small voices — ‘‘Ye, ye, le,’^ close to my ears, 
sharp as needle points they spake. I turned and 
fled into the house, closing the door behind me. 

I waited quite a while for the appearance of 
Old Man, but he came not. Growing restless 
concerning him, I caught up the camphor bottle 
and went skirmishing around those bees and 
down to the hedge, where I found him in a heap 
on the ground, submerged in trouble, his head 
partly in and partly out of the hedge. He was 
bent nearly double, clinging to his nose with one 
hand, with the other rubbing his stomach, groan- 
ing loudly. 

“John, dear,’^ I asked, tenderly, “are you 
damaged muchT’ 

‘ ‘ Killed said he, ‘ ‘ or same as killed. When I 
fell off ’n that table, the blamed chair post struck 
into my inwards, and my stomach is punched 
through my backbone; the bees have stung me 
to death. I’ll never be able to eat or drink 
again; I’m done for this time.” 

The thought of never being able to eat or 
drink again brought about a very unpleasant 


OF KENTUCKY 


233 


state of feeling, and lie groaned two or three 
groans in a bnnch. 

‘^DonT relinquish your grip on life so read- 
ily,’’ I advised. ‘‘As long as you continue to 
breathe you’ll live.” 

I sat down by his side and drawing his head 
gently on my lap, bathed the wounds with 
camphor. I finally persuaded him to return to 
the house with me, and lie down. He asked 
where Jupe was. 

I answered: “If he is traveling at the rate 
he was when last I saw him, he must, at least 
calculation, be about seventy-five miles due west 
of here by this hour. ’ ’ 

“I don’t know,” he said, lugubriously, 
“what’ll be done with them confounded bees.” 

“Don’t allow yourself to be troubled about 
them,” I admonished. “If they fly away and 
you never hear of them again, the loss is not 
much, but a good riddance.” 

He turned his face to the wall and continued : 
“I aim to make Jonas Piper take ’em back, and 
if he objects. I’ll put the law ag’in him for get- 
tin’ money under false pretences, for that’s just 
what he done. He shall take ’em back, he shall 
doit!” 

He groaned very energetically again and said 
I must send for Jonas to come and hive them. 


234 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


I went into the yard, thinking I would recon- 
noitre and find what those hees were doing. To 
my surprise, they were all clinging to that apple 
bough, which was leaning against the table 
where it had fallen. I rescued the bonnet from 
the sorry plight in which I found it; I donned 
it and the gloves, then sneaked quietly up to 
that limb, raised it gently aloft, and carrying it 
to the hive, shook the bees otf onto the paper. 
They began pouring in — a perfect stream of 
them. I gave another shake and another. Fi- 
nally, only a few remained outside buzzing 
around, but I felt safe under shelter of bonnet 
and gloves and very proud of my achievement. 

Jonas did really take the bees, which was a 
great relief to me, for they caused the old man 
to use some very strong language, but he recov- 
ered from that bee venture without anything 
of a serious nature resulting from the encounter, 
and he realizes he has no talent for bee keeping, 
that he stands in the same relation to bees that 
a red rag does to a beast of the bovine family. 


CHAPTER XX. 


A CATASTROPHE. 

After Pete’s term at college expired, lie re^ 
turned home, where he and Laura took up their 
occupation in the bee yard once more. 

One morning, some weeks after the old man’s 
heroic effort at bee-keeping, I sat on our front 
veranda quietly perusing the Daily News.’^ 
I was deeply interested in my occupation, never- 
theless my ears, as ever, were on the alert to 
all outward noises. Suddenly there reached me- 
an unusual, peculiar sound — a whirring, accom- 
panied by a pattering of horses’ feet. Turning 
my eyes in the direction of the disturbance, I 
perceived approaching from up the road, at un- 
usual rapid gait, a horse and vehicle, in which 
was a man, pulling desperately on the lines, and 
whose seeming intention was to keep the flying- 
animal in the middle of the smooth road. 

Oh, yes, certainly it was Jack. Previous to- 
this it had been Jack and the colt, now it was the 
colt and Jack, for undoubtedly the animal had* 
gained the mastery and was running away. In 


236 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


an instant they were opposite me. Here the colt 
swerved a little to right, bringing one wheel in 
contact with the stout hitching post — result, a 
smashed wheel and Jack^s unconscious, bleed- 
ing form lying by the roadside. The colt sped 
on with the remnants of the cart. 

I hastened out, reaching Jack at the same 
moment Pete did. 

‘‘My God! Is he deadP^ he questioned, excit- 
edly. 

“I think not, I trust not,’’ I replied, anxious- 
ly. “Do you know what frightened the colt?” 

“In passing Miss Laura’s just now, it became 
a little unmanageable. Jack seemed not able to 
restrain it — dashing through a swarm of bees 
flying and buzzing across the road, seeking a 
bough on which to settle, and becoming so infu- 
riated at the sting of the bees, it bolted. The 
handsomest, most spirited young horse Jack 
has ever owned,” said he, “but it would not be 
any more good.” 

A moment later a white dress fluttered at my 
side, and Laura sank on the ground by Jack’s 
side, with an agonizing stricken cry. ‘ ‘ Oh, my 
love! My poor, poor love, I have killed you!” 

She swayed blindly in Pete’s direction, and 
I believe would have fainted but he had an eye 
on her as well as Jack, and took strenuous meas- 


OF KENTUCKY 


237 


Tires ; catching her by the shoulder, he gave her 
a rough shake, followed by a slight box on the 
ear. 

‘‘See here, Laura, in a decided tone, “donT 
act silly, ’nough to do now to get Jack around 
without a collapse from you.’’ 

It seemed to restore her equipoise, for she 
eagerly, anxiously said: “Oh, Pete, only tell 
me he will live ! What would life be to me with 
my poor laddie gone!” This last was sobbed 
out. A moment more and she had Jack’s head 
on her lap. 

I hastened for water and restoratives, think- 
ing to myself that affairs were beginning to as- 
sume new forms, or was it an old form asserting 
an external appearance for my special benefit. 
Pete had accused me of obtuseness, which I 
angrily had resented; but here was confirma- 
tion that he was correct. Therefore, I was 
forced to make acknowledgement to myself that 
I was not so wise or penetrating as Solomon; 
although Old Man, when I particularly pleased 
him, had accused me of reaching the Solomon 
status in knowledge ; when displeased, however, 
he would refute the charge by denying me pos- 
sessed of even mother-wit. 

On my return with camphor and water, the 
only restoratives at my command (I could not 


‘238 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


Lave kept house without both of these), and just 
before reaching them, I saw Laura bend over 
and kiss the poor, pale lips that perhaps would 
never again speak words of love or utter plead- 
ings that were unheeded by her. What if she 
were, true enough, too late with her acknowl- 
edgements of a return for his devotion? 
Why had she not made that acknowl- 
edgement ere this? Another mystification for 
me. Well, I didnT just for the moment care, 
if only Jack recovered, which then I thought 
doubtful, for there was a great gash cut on the 
brow near the temple. The secrets and mys- 
teries might take care of themselves, if only our 
good, beloved friend lived. These were my 
thoughts under the excess of present anxiety. 
I gave Pete the bottle of camphor and basin of 
water. I found him busily engaged searching 
for a pulsation of the heart, and though a wit- 
ness to the kissing episode, he pretended not to 
be, but remarked, while a gratified smile lurked 
about the corners of his mouth, ‘‘He hi be 
around all right pretty soon, I think.’’ 

While Pete and I chafed his hands, Laura ut- 
tered not a word, but sat quietly with Jack’s 
head on her lap, the tears one after another 
slipping from the pretty brown eyes and falling 
on the stricken face below; tenderly and lovingly 
^he wiped them away. 


OF KENTUCKY 


239 


That kiss, the loving touch and the tears, all 
revealed the state of feeling she no longer strove 
to conceal. 

Soon a faint tinge of color 'appeared on his 
face, the eye-lids slowly lifted themselves to fall 
more qnickly. 

‘‘Shall we not carry him indoors?’^ I ques- 
tioned. “I will assist you, Pete.’^ 

“No need,” he answered, and, young giant 
that he was, he lifted Jack tenderly up, bore him 
safely to the hall, and deposited him carefully 
on the sofa. Laura followed, and leant helpless- 
ly against the stair railing, seemingly unable to 
speak again after that one, wild, frightened cry. 

Pete knelt by Jack’s side, bathing the bruised 
and bleeding face as tenderly as any woman. 
I bustled ’round, got hot and cold water, flour- 
ished the camphor bottle, occasionally putting 
a few drops of the contents about Jack’s nose. 
I could see he was reviving. 

“Hello, Jack!” called Pete; “better?” 

The eyes opened slowly and wandered over 
the room, then came back to dwell on Pete’s 
face, while the color mantled quickly to cheek 
and brow. 

“Yes, I’m better,” came the answer. “Are 
you all here? What has happened?” Again 
the eyes searched the room. 


240 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


^‘Only about four of us left to tell tbe tale, a 
few bee stings and a first-class smasb-up. Have 
a drink, old boy;’’ and raising him gently, Pete 
placed the water to his lips. 

Where is the colt?” was the next question. 

‘‘In Halifax, if he hasn’t halted at any of the 
many stations on the route. ’ ’ 

“And — and Laura?” 

Pete looked round to where Laura had been, 
to find her gone. 

“Never mind now. Jack, allow me to inspect 
your bones.” 

He took each arm and gently moved it to and 
fro, went through the same process with lower 
limbs, the while watching Jack’s face for any 
indication of suffering. 

“See here, Jack, own up now, acknowledge 
you weren’t half so dead as you pretended. 
Didn’t you appreciate the situation to the de- 
gree you’d like to have it repeated?” 

“Possibly not, and I am willing to undergo 
any pain or suffering that would give me an 
acknowledgement of Laura’s — of a kindly feel- 
ing from her,” he answered quietly, hesitating- 
ly, to both of Pete’s questions. 

“Where is Laura?” he questioned again. 

“Skipped to parts unknown, through sheer 
anger at herself for having at last, over your 
dead body, as she believed, confessed to loving 


OF KENTUCKY 


241 


you. This after tantalizing and harrassing our 
two lives out of our bodies in an effort to get 
at the truth/’ Pete ingeniously answered. 

‘‘Our two lives?” Jack interrogated. 

“Yes, our two lives,” reiterated Pete. “Fight- 
ing your battles, I have run various and all kinds 
of risks at having myself kicked out of her good 
opinion with my impertinent prying; jeopar- 
dized my dignity and rendered uncomfortable 
our mutual friend here,” looking at me, “by 
running after Miss Alma in a most distracted 
manner, to prevent your attentions. I found 
it gave Laura pain to have you even look in the 
direction of any other woman, especially one 
so beautiful and attractive as Miss Alma, whom 
I think had the good sense to interpret my inten- 
tions aright. You undoubtedly gave Laura ex- 
cellent cause for jealousy.” 

“Why did she not tell me this long ago? God 
knows I have suffered for want of this informa- 
tion,” said Jack, sighing. 

“I fathomed Laura’s heart,” continued Pete, 
“when she first came among us, but she obsti- 
nately refused to own the truth, for certain ob- 
ligations she believed resting on her.” 

“What obligations?” asked Jack, regarding 
Pete with sharpened look. 

“Oh, you know very well she is betrothed to 
Fred Norton, who threatens to kill himself if 


242 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


she violates the promise made him in a childish, 
foolish moment, before she knew her own heart. 
It required time and skill on my part to ferret 
this out, but I obtained the information I sought 
without her suspecting my intentions.’’ 

^ ‘ It appears to me I might have been made ac- 
quainted with these facts long ago,” said Jack, 
lugubriously. 

^‘I made an attempt to introduce you to them, 
but you refused in a most dignified manner the 
pleasure of their acquaintance. You gave me 
such a rebuff I thought it prudent to allow you 
the comfort of eating your own heart out. ’ ’ 

‘^I remember about it now,” said Jack, ‘‘but 
believe me when I tell you I did not understand 
your meaning — I certainly did not.” 

I left the room in search of Laura ; not finding 
her, I returned. Pete had Jack on his feet aid- 
ing him in walking over the room, but his gait 
was unsteady, and I advised him to lie down 
again and keep quiet, at the same time inform- 
ing him of his inability to get away for several 
days. 

“Yes,” repeated Pete, “keep quiet and bliss- 
ful. I will take the overland route to Halifax 
in search of the colt.” 

He did not go straight to Halifax, he went in 
search of Laura. With more success than I, he 


OF KENTUCKY 


243 


found her. They were on the back porch. I 
heard him singing. Wondering what there 
might be to call forth a song, I stepped out to 
find him with Laura’s hands clasped tightly in 
his, so as to insure no escaping. He was swing- 
ing her insanely around and about over the 
floor, his own feet clattering to the music of 
that old Scotch song ‘^Jock o’ Hazeldean.” On 
he went bouncing her about altogether against 
her will. Not heeding my presence, he continued 
his song: 

^‘Now let this wilful grief be done. 

And dry that cheek so pale, 

Y'oung Fred is chief of Everington, 

And Lord of Langly dale. 

His step is first in drink saloons. 

His taste for wine is keen. 

But aye, she loot the tears fa’ down. 

For Jock o’ Hazeldean.” 

He so perverted the words of the old song as 
to make them apply to Fred Norton, repeating 
the refrain over and over — 

‘‘But aye she loot the tears fa’ down. 

For Jock o’ Hazeldean.” 

Seeing Laura’s displeasure at such rudeness, 
I went to the rescue. 


244 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


‘‘Pete!’’ I exclaimed in angry tones, “liush 
that np and let loose her hands before I box 
yonr ears; what do you mean by such rude- 
ness?” 

“Oh! the delight to find Miss Laura can, un- 
der stress, tell the truth — 

“ ‘For aye she loot the tears fa’ down. 

For Jock o’ Hazeldean.’ 

revoir, ladies, I’m going for bees, not 
colts.” He ran down the steps and was otf like 
a flash. 

I turned to Laura and putting my arms about 
her I said: “L^ura, dear, put aside your grief; 
come. Jack is impatient to see you. Yfe under- 
stand it all now. Pete has known the situation 
all the while and explained to us.” 

“No, no, Pete, great, kind heart that he is, he 
cannot understand Fred’s frailty, nor the temp- 
tations that assail him at every turn. Although 
promising me never again to visit his old haunts^ 
I’m sure he does, for his mother supplies him 
with money, notwithstanding his father has for- 
bidden her thus to do, and also forbids him re- 
turning home. And do please,” she said im- 
ploringly, “never mention to any one all that 
occurred this morning. I cannot see Mr. Win- 
ton again. You do not know the trouble that I 


OF KENTUCKY 


245 


liave wrought by my foolish conduct, but oh ! I 
thought he was dead!’’ 

‘‘Surely there can be no wrong in letting the 
world know you love the man who adores you?” 
said I. 

“But the consequences of permitting the 
world to know.” 

“You will surely grant him one moment’s in- 
terview,” I said pleadingly. 

‘ ‘ Oh, I cannot, I cannot ! Tell him I am most 
miserable, most unhappy; some day I may tell 
him all.” 

‘ ‘ Laura, he knows all, and you surely have not 
that confidence in Fred Norton as to believe he 
would put into execution any threat he has 
made. He is not so eager for death; don’t 
think it, my dear girl. ’ ’ 

“You cannot understand what his troubles 
are. His father will not permit his return home 
ever again, and has severed all near and dear 
ties, I am the only real friend left.” 

‘ ‘ Marry him, then, and put an end to his suf- 
ferings and bring upon yourself eternal sor- 
row.’ 

“Oh, I could never do that, no, never, even 
if I did not — ^did not — ” 

“Not even if you did not love Jack? I can 
say it for you. You do love him, and why will 


246 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


you continue to persecute him and yourself as 
you are doing 

^‘Fred, you know, would — would kill himself 
if he knew — he certainly would, and I would be 
his murderer. I will suffer anything rather 
than that. I wish you could understand how 
horrible that thought is to me, but you cannot.. 
I’m going home now,” and ere I could protest 
she was gone. 

When Old Man came in to dinner, he went in 
search of the colt; finding it in such a crippled 
condition as to render necessary the immediate 
ending of its life and sutferings by the briefest 
method — that of shooting. 

Jack remained with us another day and then 
returned to Hazeldean a smiling, happy man. 

I did without the sight of Laura for a month,, 
then a longing took possession of me to look 
into her dear eyes once again, for there was 
pity mingled with love I bore her now, and I 
went in search of her. 

I found Pete snugly ensconced in the bee yard, 
the inevitable book in hand, pouring over it with 
a happy, contented look on his fine, strong face, 
for I must admit I had learned to admire him. 

After greetings, I asked for Laura. 

‘‘Gone,” he said briefly. 

“Gone where?” 

‘ ‘ Texas, ’ ’ he answered, with the same brevity. 


OF KENTUCKY 


247 


‘‘What on earth has she gone to Texas for!’’ 

“You ask me too early in the proceeding,” 
he replied. 

“When did she go, and will she ever return!” 
was my next query. 

“Yesterday morning, and soon, I hope — 
couldn’t get on well without her. The honey 
crop is to put on the market right away, and 
all the disposition I know to make of it is to 
eat it.” 

“You will not tell me why she went, or any- 
thing. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I could make up a very plausible story 
and recount it to you, but I’ve turned a new 
page in my day hook, and am striving with great 
difficulty to not deviate from the truth, and 
don’t wish to break over just in the outset of 
my good resolutions.” 

“How full of whims and peculiar ideas she 
is of late, ’ ’ I remarked. ‘ ‘ I hope no harm may 
befall her.” 

“To be whimsical is woman’s prerogative,” 
he answered, “and she has proved her capabil- 
ity of taking care of herself along with various 
others. In proof, here am I; but for her I 
should be a wanderer, not knowing what use to 
make of my life. Then here of late she has 
conceived the idea of making of Nellie Bond a 


248 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


trained hospital nurse, or doctor, or some such 
useful member of society. Says her tact and 
kindness in a sick room is phenomenal.’’ 

‘‘What does she propose doing with Jack, 
think you?” 

“She will marry him and manage him. His 
proclivities for or career at colt training is 
about ended ; she will not risk his precious neck 
in such another escapade as the one he has just 
finished up. ’ ’ 

“And what is to become of you?” 

“I shall go in pursuit of law and order next 
year in Judge Hollis’ office.” 

“And you never loved Laura, Pete?” 

“I have adored her always, but not in the way 
you imagined. ’ ’ 

“Fred Norton, what will become of him, poor 
man?” 

“He will continue his journey to the devil. 
Laura can not redeem him, however well she 
may have laid her plans to that end.” 

“And Lute, do you propose making a law 
partner of Lute?” 

I had caught him fairly, for the audacious 
young man actually blushed and stammered: “I 
— I shall have to win a few laurels ere I take 
oath on that proposition. Paterfamilias might 
not be willing to take into consideration a mat- 
ter of such importance to him this morning, to- 


OF KENTUCKY 


249 


morrow or next day; so do not press me for an 
answer under three years. 

‘‘I discover you have been considering the 
matter, at any rate. And, Pete,’’ I continued, 
apologetically, ^‘you have been to me all this 
time the unknown quantity, with the other young 
people I have been on more familiar terms, 
though I believed I understood you best, till 
here of late I confess I was making mistakes, 
and I feel as though I should otfer you an apol- 
ogy, and also my congratulations, but for what, 
I cannot precisely focus as' yet. And since there 
seems a little indication of mystery in the atmos- 
phere of this vicinity, I will not go indoors, but 
bid you adieu. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE BEOKEH BOND. 

I awaited 'anxiously Laura’s return. In ten 
days she was home again. I was at the grocery 
store when she alighted from the train. Follow- 
ing in her steps were two men — strangers, but 
that was no unusual thing; these men were 
wearing the garb of the rough, working class ^ 
neither was that circumstance unusual. 

So soon as she singled me out among those 
standing about, she came hurriedly towards me. 
Kissing me affectionately, she inquired after 
her mother. 

‘‘All well, everybody well, but you truant; 
where have you been running off to, without 
even giving one a chance to wish you bon voy- 
age. And you look weary and sad-eyed — ^any- 
thing gone wrong 1 ’ ’ 

“Yes, much; but, so far as I am able, I will 
right it. Can you and Uncle John (she’d called 
him Uncle John from their first acquaintance) 
come over and sit an hour or two to-morrow 
evening?” 


OF KENTUCKY 


251 ; 


‘'Certainly we can, though I had intended — 
“No matter what you intended,’’ she said se- 
riously, “it is imperative that you come.” 

“Laura, you know my aversion to mysteries, 
in fact, this whole township is antagonistic to- 
ward secrets ; we are not happy while one exists 
in our midst, so out with it. ’ ’ 

“No, I cannot now, but come at seven 
o ’clock. ’ ’ 

She turned from me and walked back to those 
two strangers, spoke something to them, when 
all three proceeded to Barney Grimes ’ boarding 
house. Turning in the direction of home, I 
looked incidentally across towards the ticket 
office. I saw Fred Norton sitting idle and alone 
on a barrel near the door. He saw me and raised 
his hat in recognition. He was not the same 
Fred Norton I had seen there eighteen or more 
months previous. Most perceptible were the 
down-grade indications. Pale, forlorn, dejected^ 
a shabbiness about his attire never by me ob- 
served before. I had not seen him for six months 
till now. Poor, poor Fred, could anything ever 
restore to him his former happy condition T 
Should he reform, the remorse for having will- 
ingly gone astray would linger. Who was ta 
blame for his downfall, what had been his en- 
vironments, what the influences in his early 


252 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


downward career? Was Pete correct in saying 
he acquired the habit of imbibing wine at his 
own board? Was progressive euchre, in which 
parents, sisters and the elite of the city were 
participants, in his father ^s palatial home, 
responsible for his gambling tendencies, as 
Pete believed? Had he been a boy of 
mine, or a relative I loved, I think it 
would have broken my heart to note the 
change in him and know the cause. I^m 
sure I should have shed tears enough to have 
drowned him. Thinking seriously about the 
matter, I did not so much blame Laura for the 
interest she was taking in him. Poor, fallen 
Pred! 

I put aside my engagements, picked up my 
knitting, and with Old Man, walked over to 
Laura ^s at the appointed hour. All was quiet 
■and peaceful, seemingly, about the house. We 
met our minister there, a not unusual thing, us 
he visited frequently each house in the village. 
Mrs. Dane was perceptibly nervous. After 
greetings were over, Laura sat calmly down, not 
speaking again, but evidently listening. Soon 
footsteps were heard on the porch. She rose 
and opened the door. Fred Norton, a sullen 
look on his countenance, entered, followed by 
those two strange men I had seen with Laura, 
who at the moment of their entrance left the 


OF KENTUCKY 


25a 


room, but instantly returned leading in Nellie 
Bond, wearing a nervous, frightened look on her 
pale face. Laura led her to Fred Norton’s side. 
For just one moment Nellie looked imploringly 
up into his face. Just one moment, there was 
hesitancy in his look and manner, then he 
reached out and took Nellie’s hand in his own, 
the minister rose and began the marriage serv- 
ice. I was busily engaged with my knitting, but 
on the instant I cast it from me, rose to my feet, 
pulling Old Man up with me, wondering what 
all this meant. With solemnity the minister’s 
voice rose and fell as he proceeded, accentuat- 
ing the “will you” and so on. I looked at Fred 
Norton; a new light, a new resolve seemed to 
have entered into his being; he lifted his head 
aloft and gazed intently at the minister, and 
without hesitancy responded to the questions. 

Turning to Nellie after the ceremony he said : 
“Nellie, you are the only friend left me in my 
adversity; all have fled or turned coldly aside 
but you, and I swear before Almighty God to 
love and protect you as long as our two lives are 
spared to each other. We will leave this accursed 
country, never again to breathe its vile atmos- 
phere. It will not be painful for you, dear, you 
have no ties to sever. The links that bound me 
to kindred and friends I have broken by profli- 
gate use of opportunities with which I have 


■254 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


been amply endowed, but I can and will make 
amends. And you,^’ turning to those strange 
men, ^‘need hound my steps no longer. I shall 
take far better care of her than you have done. 
Long ago, when I was but a lad, I found her 
and her mother dying of starvation and neglect; 
I conveyed them to a hospital where the mother 
— your sister — died ; since then I have cared for 
Nellie, and if wrong has come of her trusting, 
loving confidence in me, her only friend — 

‘‘Say not her only friend, since coming to 
me,’’ said Laura. “I have loved her dearly, 
and to shield her from the calumny of the world 
I played the part I have in this affair. If I have 
done wrong, I pray for forgiveness. I feared 
any attempt on my part alone would be futile, 
so far as carrying out the consummation of what 
has just taken place. After a full confession 
from Nellie here, I went for her uncle, not know- 
ing what other course to pursue.” 

“True,” she continued, turning to us, “he has 
been for twelve years a friend to her, caring for 
her in every possible way; secured her a home 
with a kind family, had her educated, and 
now — ” 

“Hush, Miss Dane, if you please!” command- 
ed Norton in a more peremptory tone than he 
had ever used toward her before, I am sure, for 


OF KENTUCKY 


255 


she gave a perceptible start and looked at him 
wonderingly. He continued: 

‘Evil is wrought by want of thought, 

As well as want of heart — ’ 

And so help me God, if atonement can be made 
for any evil I have done others, or myself, I 
will make reparation. Come, Nellie. 

Laura caught up a hat from a table near by 
and placed it on Nellie ^s head, kissing her adieu 
in a most atfectionate manner. The door closed, 
shutting out the minister, Norton, Nellie and 
her uncles. Laura dropped on a chair and cried 
for about three minutes, then raising her head 
she laughed. 

“I would not laugh, Laura,’’ said her mother, 
in a rebuking tone, “till I found whether or not 
I had married her to a man likely to treat her 
kindly, for you undoubtedly forced the marriage 
on him. ’ ’ 

“It was the only right thing to do,” she re- 
turned petulantly. “What else could or should 
I have done 1 ’ ’ 

“Besides,” I averred, “it was the only means 
of severing your own bonds.” 

“Yes, yes, you done right, Laura,” put in Old 
Man. “You done right, you did. I heerd him 
promise her he’d marry her, so did this sugar 


256 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


lump standin’ right here by my side. We both 
heerd him, the night Dick Smart died — I mean 
the night he didnT die,^’ and he went on to re- 
late the little incident and the conversation wc 
overheard in Laura’s orchard. 

Said she, facing me: After that you should 
not reproach me with wrong-doing. I could 
have worn my chains through time, uncomplain- 
ingly, rather than have the consciousness of a 
great sin, or permitting a great sin weigh me 
down. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh you needn’t have feared his putting into 
execution his menace. He rarely ever kept his 
engagements, you know. But your confidence 
in him may be restored by the fulfillment of his 
promise of amendment made this evening; and 
Laura, don’t tell me you were wearing your 
chains uncomplainingly. The most woeful com- 
plaint I ever heard fall from human lips you 
gave utterance to in that sorrowful old song, 
‘Parted’ I heard you singing last autumn when 
you believed no one near, and the little talk you 
held with Laura Dane and her conscience after 
the song ended. But verily, verily, I had wrong 
conceptions as to whom I should apply the 
^you^ in connection with the ‘I’ in the song, and 
I came near revealing I was an eavesdropper 
by rushing in and disabusing your mind of the 
idea you had, through Alma, lost Pete’s aifec- 


OF KENTUCKY 


257 


tion; at that time, I believed you were greatly 
enamored of Pete — ’’ 

‘‘And I ’lowed you was, too,” interrupted Old 
Man in a surprised tone, “and if ’twan’t Pete, 
nor Norton, who in the nation could it ’a been 
you was hankerin’ after; old Brice, hey? I 
notice when there’s a passle of unmarried men 
around and gals, vicey versy, you may look out 
for breakers.” 

“Yes, heart breakers,” I volunteered, looking 
meaningly at Laura. 

Picking up my knitting from the corner to 
which I had flung it, and winding the thread 
about the needles, to prevent losing them, I 
proposed journeying homeward. 

“Laura, I infer you will need us again soon 
as participants on a similar occasion,” was my 
good-night speech. 

But an entire year sped by ere she would con- 
sent to marry Jack, holding herself aloof, hardly 
permitting him to take a fair and square look 
into her sweet brown eyes. “Doing penance,” 
Pete called it. I sometimes questioned if she 
meant to marry him at all. But Jack told me 
she confessed to him she had loved him always, 
not realizing the wrong she was doing herself 
or him when she yielded to the pleadings of 
Fred Norton that she marry him; yet she could 
never get her own consent, so far as to fulfill 


258 


’MONGST THE HILLS 


the promise, because she discovered her heart 
belonged to J ack alone. 

One day there reached her a letter from Nel- 
lie, the first intelligence they received after they 
left Kentucky. They were living in a thriving 
little town away off in Southern California. 
Fred was practicing law — had numerous clients 
had turned resolutely away from strong drink 
and gambling — ^that they had named their little 
girl Laura Dane. 

Yes, she married Jack, and a happier couple 
does not exist outside of Paradise. Though 
Jack declared to me once he was very jealous 
of Laura’s honey-bees, she was entirely too de- 
voted in her attention to them, and asserting her 
independence through so much money-getting. 

Her bees were truly a source of remuneration, 
but Old Man looks glum when I remind him of 
the money he lost in not keeping bees. 

And Pete, you ask? Well, now, I’m under 
the necessity of informing you of my well-laid 
plans going astray once more as regarded Pete, 
but more anon. 























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